As Cannes Film Festival approaches, my dilemma is what to wear. The last few hot sunny days have kidded us all that summer has finally arrived and bikinis and kaftans have been de rigeur chez Kershaw with jumpers and jeans stuffed to the back of the wardrobe to make room for silk T shirts, floaty shifts and shorts. Now the forecast is predicting torrential downpours over the next three days, making the prospect of cocktails at Nikki Beach not quite as appealing as they should be.
Attending glam soirees all done up like a dogs dinner is one thing but being rained on as you leg it and skid along the Croisette in ridiculous heels looking like a drowned ferret while the great and the good emerge from their dry chauffeur driven limos is another. Are you feeling sorry for me yet?
The Great Gatsby opens the festival tomorrow, with the press screening ahead of the starry premiere tomorrow evening. Leo DiCap (I feel I can abbreviate now that we are virtually old buddies having rubbed shoulders at his private villa party two years ago), Carey Mulligan (who would be my choice to play me in a film of my life, I'm sure she would jump at the chance), Tobey Maguire and Baz Luhrmann will be posing on the steps of the Palais des Festivals while us mere mortals bask in their dazzling reflected glory.
Then there are the party invites which are currently piling into my inbox.....Calvin Klein, Chopard, Belvedere, Eva Longoria's gala dinner, to mention few not forgetting Judy's friend's birthday supper, which will be every bit as good as the celeby bashes, if not better....it will take more than a few showers to dampen the party atmosphere this year.
Before the rain arrives, I snapped the picture above as whatever the weather, the garden is in full blossom...the orange trees, jasmine, climbing roses, grapefruit trees and even the viney weedy thing that usually really annoys me growing up our terrace are all blooming and their heady scents fill the air.
The perfume is the first thing I notice every morning when I get up to check on Earl/Steve McQueen. He hops around the olive trees every morning looking in rude health. I saw my neighbour Rosine last week and she asked, vous avez un lapin qui vit dans votre jardin? I explained that he had escaped from his two storey townhouse hutch and she told me that in the past few weeks he has eaten all of her blette and courgettes and has just started on the leeks. Eek.
I have been taking Special K, spinach, rocket, apples and carrots down for breakfast and dinner to feed him up so that he doesn't feel the need to raid her vegetable patch. He is now so confident when he sees me arrive with his organic picnic box that he races towards me like a demented puppy eager to tuck in. After his feast, he has taken to lying by the hammock (not in it) snoozing in the sunshine with his back legs stretched out. I'm still deciding whether the next picture I post should be Leo DiCap in his tux tomorrow night or Steve McQueen relishing his great escape.