Today I was meant to be going to a big market in Aix de Provance, about an hrs drive away, instead having had yet another night of bad dreams, this time involving a house full of dead and dying animals as part of an extreame ecologists natural experiment, I wake up far too late in my little studio, and steady my fears by making my usual wheetabix in bed.
I follow this with reading, drag myself out of bed with the thought of tottering about in my platform red shoes and little red dress and decide a trip to a chocolatiere is in order as my kettle has blown the fuse in half the studio leaving me without a coffee making source (or electricity in that half of the studio). While slurping coffee and munching cake, I have a lovely stilted conversation and am encouraged to visit Canne. Having been before I know it is an upmarket version of St Tropez, so I can expect more parading and drooling in shop windows.
Canne was exactly that, and it is nice to experience the high life occasionally. That said having spent a few hrs window shoppings, obviously unable to afford even a designer name tag let alone a full handbag, I decide two things. Number one - I need the loo and Two, im going to spoil myself! And so I swan into the Carlton Hotel and entered the marble elegance of their restrooms (Sean Penn, Micheal Douglas and George Clooney have also used the hotels facilities, and who knows maybe a posh girl celebrity has even graced the same toilet seat as me - oh dear, how sad!). I then decided there was a strong likelihood of getting a proper cup of tea here, so made myself comfy in the lounge. There, despite paying €10 for a cup of tea, I had it served in a teapot with a British crown on it, a dirty tea cup and no milk! But oh isn't it a joy when these haughty establishments get it so badly wrong and you get to complain. Mumble grumble, I will stick to my builders mug of tea thank you very much!
I was now into hour 5 of wandering streets in ridiculous heels, and was still surviving. I walked the marina looking at the huge boats, clocking those registered on the Isle of Man, and wondering what it would be like to swan about all the hot places of the world, set in such yachting luxury. The crews for some of them must have entered double figures! Oh to have zillions...but I'm sure it would get boring. For a start I would forever have to be flying my friends out to see me, or else I'd get lonely. Can't have pancake parties on my own!
I felt happier after pizza, driving back (singing dreadfully to 90s english pop classics) to my little studio. Basic pleasures are always more satisfying in the long run.
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