Barcelona and Arcachon

Barcelona is a great city, even if you don't pack light, like I didn't, and end up having to lug luggage up four flights of stairs to our cool apartment opposite the cathedral.  The tapas was fantastic at a number of restaurants including Mariscco in Placa Reail and Origens in el Born, where everything was organic. The pimientos del padron and baby squid Galician style were particular favourites.  Luckily for the Kershoe brigade, the shops stayed shut on Sunday so there was no opportunity to swell the total of eight pairs of shoes we had bought collectively in Alicante. Instead, it was the Miro Fundacio followed by a fishy tapas lunch and cava at Mariscco. Drinks at the rooftop bar of the Pulitzer rounded off a perfect weekend. Seven hours drive later, on Monday we landed in Arcachon near Bordeaux for the next leg of the summer road trip. It's a favourite haunt of Parisians, Johnny Depp, Vanessa Paradis and AA Gill, and it's not hard to see why. The seafront is bordered by golden sand, oyster bars and restaurants looking across the bassin towards Cap Ferret. There are dozens of stylish boutiques and a market selling organic and locally grown produce, boasting a fish stall which if the fish counters of Leclerc, Auchan and Carrefour were lined up they would still not beat it in length or quality.  The area is full of sand dunes, popular with bottlenose dolphins, porpoises and surfers, with the Atlantic waves among the best in Europe. With that in mind, I booked a surf lesson for Issy and Poppy before heading off to try out the beach they will be learning on tomorrow evening. I hired my board and was persuaded to take it for four hours rather than two with the words of the surf dude ringing in my ears. 'Les vagues sont tres belles aujhourd'hui.' Now, defining good is a tricky one. And I didn't realise that most of the four hour hire time would be spent trekking in searing heat with a board twice the size of me under my arm.  By the time I had parked the car at La Salie Sud and walked a kilometre of boardwalk in sand dunes carrying a 7ft 6in fun board in 80 degrees and a wetsuit, I was having anything but fun and I hadn't even stepped into the surf yet. There were no other surfers in sight, not an encouraging sign, but I was damned if I was going back after all that effort.  I gamely stepped in and was immediately rolled by waves crashing sideways into each other. Memories of Hossegor came flooding back but as everyone who knows me knows, it takes a lot to beat me. When I emerged an hour later, I'd managed to catch a fair few good waves, get rolled by a few more and incur a sand rash on my knee and a whack across the jaw when a particularly evil wave caught the board and smashed it into my face. Does this sound like fun? I'm not doing it justice.  Later, as I regaled Sarah with soggy surf tales as water still poured from my nose and my knee took on a shiny hue of scarlet, I decided that a priority in the next few days is to find a beach with surf boards for hire, surfers aplenty, less of that walking mullarkey, kind waves and a bit more in the way of fun. I will leave you with the image of me, ready for a big one, and clearly marking myself out as something of a lone maverick to the couple walking along the shallows, only for me to end up seconds later, virtually at their feet, tied up with my ankle leash like a character from Fifty Shades of Grey, covered in sand and seaweed. 

Living la vida loca

We all like to start our days in different ways. This morning I drank a hot lemon and cayenne followed by a bowl of fruit, yoghurt and honey and then headed to the Bhavana spa for a steam, swim and a massage. Meanwhile Handyman, Issy and Gazker headed off in another direction for a full English breakfast.  La vida loca is tripping along nicely in sunny Spain, following a hot 12 hour journey from Bar sur Loup to Gran Alacant. We left at midnight after partying the evening away at Al and Susie's, which was a brilliant idea from my point of view (as designated Champagne drinker) and a not so great idea from Handyman's (his decision to leave at midnight rather than Sunday morning therefore he was the driver.) Al's valiant attempt to keep us off the road until morning by offering Iain a champagne bucket filled with Guinness and straws failed, and we rocked up at Gary's house at midday just in time for lunch. It's roasting but all the more enjoyable for the fact that it is tipping down in the UK. My sincere apologies to all non Med readers, who may be spitting tacks by now and hurling their PCs at rain spattered windows as they read this. My first Spanish bike ride yesterday went well up to a point. The point at which I fell off. Cycling 30k in 30 degrees at 9am down the coastal road to Santa Pola was lovely, with the warm sea breeze keeping me from overheating. Confidence is not always a good thing though and when I decided to do a u-turn rather than stop, I came unstuck, or rather I didn't come unstuck in time, the dirt path loomed and unable to click my cleats out of the pedals, I collapsed in a heap of dirt with the bike on top of me. Only my pride was dented but I am sporting a rather lovely purple bruise on my left thigh.  Whizzing along past little coves and beach bars is a wonderful way to explore the local community. Stopping off at beach bars makes the journey even better. We have our own version of the Bitch, otherwise known as Opio hill, but in the spirit of being en vacances who needs a gradient when you can choose a gently sloping beachside plateau instead?  In contrast to Northern Europe, the meteo office has issued an amber weather warning here forecasting temperatures of up to 40 degrees. It makes going to the beach before 4pm an impossibility, so there is nothing for it but to take life slowly, relax and enjoy the holiday vibe. 

A very personal journey

There are moments in life when your faith in human nature is restored to the point where you want to cry with joy. Like the time many years ago when I lent the silk jacket I was wearing to a girl I'd never met before on a mad night out in New York (it's a long story, she worked at a merchant bank and couldn't go into work the next day without changing her outfit slightly, given that she hadn't been home all night.) I did it against my better judgment, expecting never to see it or her again and berated myself for being a soft touch. Imagine my surprise when a month later, a package arrived from Brooklyn, containing my jacket, a thank you letter and a beautiful dress for two-year-old Olivia. It happened again this week. With just three months until the Piste 2 Plage Challenge, I created my charity fundraising page for Help For Heroes. As well as asking for sponsorship, it was also a public declaration of what I have been through over the last 10 months. On the day I race, it will be the first anniversary of my diagnosis of breast cancer. Three operations, four and a half months of chemotherapy and six and a half weeks of radiotherapy later, I'm hanging in there, my hair is growing back after six months of looking like an extra from Alien, and best of all, I feel normal, no scratch that, I feel pretty great. I loaded it on Facebook, Twitter and email and by last night, just over 24 hours later, I'd raised in excess of £1,000 in donations from generous friends, relatives and in some cases work colleagues I have never even met. My day improved when I found out how to view the donations and read the encouraging messages of support. I am so touched I cannot even put it into words. With this in mind, I went out yesterday to buy my cycling gear. Livvy cracked up when I tried on my helmet the wrong way around. It should have been a giveaway that a. I couldn't actually see and b. the flashing torch was on the front instead of the back, making me look like a confused miner. Having been warned about raw buttock syndrome on those skinny roadbike saddles, I bought the most padded shorts I could find, which give the impression that I couldn't quite make the loo in time. Never mind. I'm a runner not a cyclist, but I will be going for it on September 15th alongside 150 other mad souls from the pretty mountain town of Auron to Juan les Pins as fast as my chunky little neon shorts will allow me. Today's picture is of me with my gorgeous soon to be teenager last year in Puglia. She is 13 on Sunday and when asked what she would like to do for her birthday, she eschewed parties and outings with schoolfriends to choose a day at the beach, just the four of us.

Two funerals and a 50th

Sitting on Easyjet has never felt so good thanks to the wonderful invention that is the iPad. I have spent this week at the Monte-Carlo TV Festival, interviewing Eva Longoria...beautiful, funny and smart, Chad Michael Murray...beautiful...Ted Danson, my teenage crush in Cheers, who is still looking good at 64, and Downton Abbey actor Allen Leech, who did a great job of keeping schtum about the new series which starts in September. Hot on the heels of the Cannes Film Festival, it means there are currently not enough hours in the day in which to write everything up. But I have just spent an enjoyable hour on thd plane writing an interview with Michelle Collins for a UK women's magazine, without feeling like a chicken with its head cut off. No email or phone to divert me either, just a muffin and a mint tea. This is my second London flight this week and I am heading to my second funeral as dear lovely Nanny Kit died two weeks ago. She was 95, in pain and just didn't want to go on any longer. She passed away a few days after a great family friend Jack, who was almost 90. His funeral last Friday was a fitting tribute to a man who was loved by everyone who met him. Even the tearing wind, horizontal rain, uprooted trees and freezing temperatures at the graveside couldn't dampen people's spirits, it was like Jack was hovering over us to see how much we could stand.  Tomorrow will be a sad day, as Kitty was larger than life, feisty, funny and didn't suffer fools. But it will also be a celebration of her long life and a time to reminisce and share happy memories. The fact that her four great-grandchildren grew up knowing her is a marvellous bonus, as is having a grandparent when you are 45. We took my mum out for supper when we arrived and she passed nan's platinum engagement ring to me with a note, written by nan quite a few years ago from the look of the hand writing, saying 'This is for Karen'. It's on my finger now. The weekend takes a more upbeat turn on Saturday when we head off to Nick's 50th. His band is playing, the Thai caterers are on standby, and the champagne will surely flow even though the great UK summer rainclouds seem set to do their utmost to rain on his parade. My silk dress and heels may need to be swapped for jeans and boots but we are armed for every eventuality and weather pattern. Luckily the sun shone last weekend when Fiona hosted a fundraising quiz for the Piste to Plage Challenge in aid of Help for Heroes. Over 60 people attended, and thanks to generous donations, fantastic raffle prizes and the efforts of Chris France to shift more copies of his book Summer in the Cote d'Azur and donate the proceeds, a magnificent €2,000 was raised. Just shows what can be done in the back garden on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The challenge takes place in September so training has started in earnest and the funds have provided a welcome boost for everyone's charity page efforts.  This month we celebrated four years of living in France and this much I know. No matter how much I miss my family and friends - never more so than at times like this - I'd find it very hard to return to the UK, where one blazing week in March followed by another in May constitutes summer. We marked our anniversaire Francais in fitting style, watching England play France at the home of Eric, who was proudly wearing his French football shirt alongside his father-in-law Jean, also in a French shirt, and Corinne, who mercifully was not. At least the draw means we are all still talking. 

Cannes glitter and glitz

So I survived the Cannes Film Festival. I ran between interviews, screenings and parties for 12 days and wasn't sure just how I would pull it off given that no bedtime came before 3.30am and yet not only am I still standing but I feel great. Had a lovely chat with Jay Z at Kanye West's premiere party at Palm Beach. First off, I couldn't believe my eyes when I spotted him shimmying on the spot to the disco classic All Night Long right next to me. 'It's Jay Z isn't it?' I said and he held out his hand and said 'Yes maam,' shaking mine. We're both sporting short crops at the moment and he said:'I love your hair. I thanked him and said it was easy to just wash and go and he added: 'Hey tell me about it,' gesturing to his close cropped hair. It was a moment. Kim Kardashian and Kanye, pictured in the background above, looked cosy. Despite a crippling schedule, I saw and loved Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom, Brad Pitt's satirical gangster yarn Killing Them Softly, On The Road, based on Jack Kerouac's iconic novel and Michael Haneke's Amour about the love between an old Parisian couple as she falls ill, rendering him as her carer. Not much happens, and for most of the film it is a two-hander in their apartment but I defy anyone to watch it and not be moved. It well deserved the Palme d'Or for director Michael Haneke. Other highlights? Well Brad looked gorgeous as always on the red carpet and I drank two months rations of Laurent-Perrier at the parties...Calvin Klein's was the ritziest, at a sumptuous villa above Cannes with A listers galore including Ben Stiller, Naomi Watts, Chris Rock and Alec Baldwin. I saw Ronnie Wood perform at VIP Room with Cyndi Lauper, Aloe Blacc at the Eden Roc and reluctantly passed on Simple Minds private Replay gig. I also mooched about on Eva Longoria's yacht. The Filmmakers Dinner at Eden Roc was also pretty special but by day 9 I was starting to flag and blew out a late invite for dinner at the Carlton with Nicole Kidman, John Cusack, Matthew McConaughey and Zac Efron for a quiet supper with Iain and the girls in sleepy Le Rouret instead. It was a no brainer. The glamour and glitz is great but normal life is even better.

Cars and movies

After relative hibernation, May is always a good month to shake off the cobwebs and start getting out and about. This month's social diary started with the Historic Grand Prix last Sunday. A ridiculously early start on the train to Monaco with the Parkers, who arrived specially for the event, and the girls, who are both car mad, was rewarded when we reached the port at Monte Carlo to be met by a launch to take us to M.Y Shaha, a beautiful motor yacht moored right by the track just after the chicane out of the Larvotto Tunnel. We met Sally and David on board for coffee and breakfast and spent the next few hours getting an ear bashing of the loveliest kind from all the amazing classic race cars zooming around the track. We had a perfect view of proceedings as the huge screen opposite showed the rest of the track and prize giving ceremonies. The 2pm race saw two of our yachties, David and Paul, taking part so this was the one we got really involved in. Paul came third and David a very respectable 10th out of a 26 strong field, so the champagne flowed....once again. There was another unscheduled race at the end of the day, through a sudden downpour from the boat to get the train back home and it was won by a mini Kershaw followed by a senior Parker, with the rest of the field sadly trailing, in giggling, uninhibited form, which has been recorded for emotional blackmail reasons on a mobile phone by aforementioned mini Kershaw. There was very little recovery time built in before Clare and I headed off, a mere nine hours later, to a wine tasting in Mougins. You might think this was rather foolhardy following a long champagne fuelled day at the races, and you would be entirely right. Better diary scheduling is required in future. Nonetheless, we somehow managed to get ourselves out of bed and the house to enjoy a fantastic morning trying champagne, rose and white wine at Linda's lovely home. It's something of an understatement to say we were partied out by lunchtime but at least the Parkers were able to depart that evening for a rest back in the UK. I had the start of Cannes Film Festival looming and it kicked off yesterday with the quirky and brilliant Wes Anderson film Moonrise Kingdom. Bruce Willis, Tilda Swinton, who played a wicked and inspired Social Services, Ed Norton, Bill Murray and Jason Schwartzman were on the red carpet and clearly en forme, as Bruce and Bill filmed the paps shooting them and Bruce signed autographs for fans in the press corps. I also went to the pop up Nikki Beach, which will no doubt be the scene for celebrity schmoozing very soon. Following interviews with the delightful Dr Who actress Karen Gillan and Stephen Tompkinson talking about his first lead movie role in Harrigan, tonight, the Calvin Klein party beckons....

Hashtags and gladrags

I am ashamed to say I have only just realised how the whole hashtag thing works. For the fellow uninitiated, it's a Twitter thing, where you put the hash symbol against words that have been pushed together #abitlikethis to talk up a topic. This is known as trending, it has nothing to do with being trendy, although I like to think I'm now capable of both. My ignorance meant avoiding Twitter as apart from not being acquainted with hashtag, I have also forgotten my password and username, leading to fruitless half hours spent inputting every username and password I've ever had on any account from Amazon to Topshop in the hope one might work. A few weeks ago, it finally did, but by then I'd inputted so many combinations that I forgot which one was successful! If I could just have a password with no uppercases or figures or minimum lengths all would be well. Luckily I am permanently logged into Twitter on my Blackberry but a change of handset is looming which means being locked out altogether. This afternoon Livvy informed me that I had to put new security questions on my Apple account to prevent fraud. I have to say fraud on any of my accounts is highly unlikely given that I can't remember the answers to my own security questions so what chance does anyone else have? If you should try to hack into my Apple account, apart from the obvious you'd also need to know all about my first car and where my mum and dad first met. The first car I really and truly owned was a sporty BMW Z3, in which I had many fun days out and drives to interviews and location visits with the roof down. When baby number two came along I considered converting the footwell to a babyseat so I could ferry them both around but common sense prevailed and I bought a Mercedes CLK instead. Oh happy days. And that's enough about that as I've now given that one away completely. If I had been a bit cuter on Twitter I could have trended like crazy last week about crowd surfing at Coachella...where my best acts were the Black Keys, Kasabian and Arctic Monkeys...and proper surfing at Venice Beach with Sarah, the pair of us high fiving every wave we caught. A little bit of shopping and brunching on Abbott Kinney and Melrose might have been done too. As was a lovely supper at Simons LA and the Ivy at the Shore in Santa Monica. And above is Niagara Falls, from the week before. So now I'm back in sunny Bar sur Loup, which isn't quite the 110 degrees we had at the festival in Palm Springs. If I was worried about life getting a bit dull, I really should have known better. The historic Classic Grand Prix in Monte Carlo looms, where we will be watching our great veteran racing friend David hopefully beating the opposition into a cocked hat from a yacht in the harbour. And then it's Cannes Film Festival where I shall be #atallthebestparties.