Ah, le soleil. It's that time of year again to put down the pencils
and strap on those waterskis in a bid to shake off the hangover, while
wondering if that 17th glass of rose in the Gutter bar last night was
Yes, anyone who's anyone in this business is quaffing their belinis down
in Cannes - and it's good to see that nothing changes, as coughing up
for a round of drinks could still pay next year's junior creative team's
The familiar sight of the festival's European contingent clad in
toe-curling fluorescent pink micro shorts once again rules the public
beach, which must be one of the only places in the world where champagne
corks roll in with the waves to lap at the shore.
But the mood this year seems a bit more measured (until after 3am, when
anything goes). Even the stars seem to be feeling the pinch this year,
as an incognito Neil Morrissey was spotted lounging around on the
(gasp!) public beach with a (double gasp!) topless dark-haired beauty.
Go on, my son, Gary would be proud.
Talking of which, testosterone remains, as ever, high on the agenda.
Even at lunch time, it seems, when one producer was heard purring: "It's
never too hot for red wine and good sex" - over a glass of water. Oooh,
The most over-dressed award so far has to go to the directing duo Daddy,
seen cruising the joint in customary sharp suits and overdone hair gel.
Very natty, boys ... but on Sunday night before anyone has even
The Traktor invite for this coming Saturday night is, as ever, hotter
than the promenade sand at midday. But when wandering from party to
party, be sure to sidestep the infamous leopard-skin clad mother and
daughter prostitute team.
And while it might be too early to see what carnage will unravel in the
throes of post-award delirium, D'Arcy is clearly expecting behaviour of
the lowest common denominator by being on hand to ferry you home safely
courtesy of an agency bus running along le Croisette. All 100 yards of
it. See you on board.