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Early skiing in France
Suddenly, I know how Posh feels – what to wear to the airport? Not, in my case, because I need to assemble yet another fabulous couture ensemble for the awaiting paparazzi, but because it’s one of those scorching late September days Britain sometimes serves up by way of apology for another underwhelming summer. And I’m going snowboarding.
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Côte d’Azur
I used to think that the Côte d’Azur was one long private beach where you had to wrestle with naked Germans for the right to lay your towel out on three square inches of pebbles. The sea, I imagined, was warm fish soup topped with a layer of sun oil. The only places to eat were snooty restaurants, where you couldn’t get served anyway, and the pervading smells were Ferrari fumes and fake lavender essence. Of course I was absolutely right; in July and August, some of it is exactly like that. Read the rest of this entry »