Rain in the Riviera

I have spent a long time preparing for this, my very first Mipim.

Knowing that I struggle with directions at the best of times, let alone after a few well timed glasses of Kir Royal, and having what some might consider a misplaced conviction that there will be a poisonous insect / snake / rabid dog that has somehow found its way into the Palais des Festivals and has purposefully singled me out for its bloodthirsty attention, I have turned into an organisational machine that my mother would truly be proud of.

I have made charts, lists, lists of my charts and have an amazingly well stocked – yet conveniently light – first aid kit to cope with anything the wild, savage South of France and its yachts can throw at me. I did not, however, expect rain.

Sat yesterday afternoon in La Vegaluna, a beachside bar on the waterfront, my mind weighed heavily on my error. With the rain thumping endlessly on the roof drowning out the sound of the waves (which incidentally were not waves at all but the heater – I was slightly inebriated) my several glasses of champagne were somewhat soured by the thought that I had with me a suitcase which contained nothing waterproof, nothing warm and no umbrella.

The prospect of shopping for emergency outfits in Cannes exclusive fashion outlets didn’t really appeal to my already battered credit card.

I wasn’t the only one to be caught out. One industry PR, who shall remain nameless, told me mournfully last night that she’d had to return to her hotel three times during the day to restraighten her hair after being exposed to the elements. At least she had that option, I replied.

Had there been anything remotely of use to me in my apartment, I would have been highly unlikely to be able to return there – as it is located at the top of a hill 45 minutes away from Cannes and can only be accessed by means of a series of complex and entirely pointless security codes.

But today is a new day, and much to the disappointment of anyone reading this in the UK, it is actually sunny. And warm. I have had an excellent outdoor breakfast in the company of HBG, nothing has bitten or poisoned me (I checked the croissants very carefully in case there were any grudges against news stories past) and my suitcase matches the climate.

I have so far not been late for anything or got lost, and it’s almost half way through the day. Am feeling much less traumatised and surprisingly unhungover – now bring on the opening night reception, and that rabid dog.