Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Ooh La La
Just back from a couple of days in France, Cannes to be specific. Left a snowy London arrived in a sunny, but windy Cannes and left a grey and drizzly Cannes to find a sunny London. Weather, huh.
I was reading an article in my hotel the other night in Grazia about how effortlessly chic French women are whilst simultaneously watching the French version of Supernanny which clearly demonstrates that they're not all chic. Not by a long shot. There are as many tracksuited and football shirt wearing French as there are here.
Cannes however doesn't really have them, they do, however have superskinny old bitches with blonde hair piled all atop their heads and even older husbands tottering about in sports jackets and splashing their cash in Dior and Chanel. I did start to wonder if there were any fat French folk when I finally spotted the one bloke who clearly got the directive to eat all the pies. Well done you Monsieur.
My French continues to be appalling but I do solider on with a bunch of Bonjours, merci's and au revoirs. I was particularly proud of myself for completely faking fluent French when I did a sneaky trip to Quick at the airport earlier today and muttered 'une supreme cheese' and managed from that point on to order the meal and a coke without actually knowing what it was he was saying to me, but logic dictated that if you order a burger they'll always say 'do you want the meal' to whit 'oui' then what drink do you want? I even managed to ask for a Coke Euro-stylee by saying 'coca' rather than coca-cola as we would say. I wandered off feeling rather smug.
Arrived in London and found myself in the luggage reclaim (btw City Airport is aces) standing next to Tracey Ullman, who whilst was sans makeup and a bit tired looked good cos she's got to be quite a bit older than me, surely??? Oh and then also Sanjeev Bhaskar and Meera Syal behind me. Tracey was keen to get the train but some producer/writer bloke who said 'I was the one who put Chigwell in Bird of a Feather' whilst I was in the queue was busy trying to get her a cab. Meera smoked a fag and waited outside with Sanjeev before their car came. My cabby, a lovely Sikh fellow - told me all about India's history and indeed his own work history during the journey home. Which I had to navigate, I in turn told him all about Trellick and Balfron Towers. Exciting times.
And now I'm home, doing a load of washing and beginning the packing for Aus.
4 more sleeps!
[edit] Turns out the producer fellow is Tracey's husband and he is doing a new show with the Bhaskar/Syals - so now you know [/edit]
I was reading an article in my hotel the other night in Grazia about how effortlessly chic French women are whilst simultaneously watching the French version of Supernanny which clearly demonstrates that they're not all chic. Not by a long shot. There are as many tracksuited and football shirt wearing French as there are here.
Cannes however doesn't really have them, they do, however have superskinny old bitches with blonde hair piled all atop their heads and even older husbands tottering about in sports jackets and splashing their cash in Dior and Chanel. I did start to wonder if there were any fat French folk when I finally spotted the one bloke who clearly got the directive to eat all the pies. Well done you Monsieur.
My French continues to be appalling but I do solider on with a bunch of Bonjours, merci's and au revoirs. I was particularly proud of myself for completely faking fluent French when I did a sneaky trip to Quick at the airport earlier today and muttered 'une supreme cheese' and managed from that point on to order the meal and a coke without actually knowing what it was he was saying to me, but logic dictated that if you order a burger they'll always say 'do you want the meal' to whit 'oui' then what drink do you want? I even managed to ask for a Coke Euro-stylee by saying 'coca' rather than coca-cola as we would say. I wandered off feeling rather smug.
Arrived in London and found myself in the luggage reclaim (btw City Airport is aces) standing next to Tracey Ullman, who whilst was sans makeup and a bit tired looked good cos she's got to be quite a bit older than me, surely??? Oh and then also Sanjeev Bhaskar and Meera Syal behind me. Tracey was keen to get the train but some producer/writer bloke who said 'I was the one who put Chigwell in Bird of a Feather' whilst I was in the queue was busy trying to get her a cab. Meera smoked a fag and waited outside with Sanjeev before their car came. My cabby, a lovely Sikh fellow - told me all about India's history and indeed his own work history during the journey home. Which I had to navigate, I in turn told him all about Trellick and Balfron Towers. Exciting times.
And now I'm home, doing a load of washing and beginning the packing for Aus.
4 more sleeps!
[edit] Turns out the producer fellow is Tracey's husband and he is doing a new show with the Bhaskar/Syals - so now you know [/edit]
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