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Oh dears! Regards from the French Riviera, where our glamorous self is attending the advertising bachannal also known as the Cannes Lions. This year there are like 40% less people and like 60% less parties and it's kind of even more fun without the mobs.
I'm kind of taking a shining to the Cote d'Azur.
Yesterday, at the bar at the Carlton we sat a table away from Roger Daltrey, who can be considered Rock royalty and Bob Geldof, who can't, but he's cool too. The man who doesn't like Mondays has sold himself to the man apparently and was to give a talk to the creative folk at Cannes today. The news of poor Michael Jackson spread like wildfire. The demise of Farrah Fawcett (nemesis of my curly hair) was commented and then we were shocked and dismayed by rumours of the passing of Jeff Goldblum. And Ed McMahon, who should have died around 200 years ago. After a frantic internet search to find out about The Fly, it turns out it's a hoax (and indeed it sounded like one, but here anything is possible).
Going to the beach... talk to you later!