Where beautiful people go to do dirty things...

You would agree that after a holiday which felt like everything but a holiday, the last thing I could do was refusing a free (!) eight days in Cannes.

I'm visiting my best friend A. He payed for my plane tickets since it was his turn to come and visit me.
Eight days in a flat with balcony in the sun, a five minutes walk from the beaches and the bars, and illimited access to hash, I really can't complain, can I? Ok, I am litteraly jumping up and down out of excitement and spent the last three days unable to think about anything else.


My programme?
Day: BEACH. On my own with a good book and my new bikini. I am loving the idea. I am confident it will be a great opportunity to make new friends. Especially, hot, tanned, male friends looking for a bit of fun...

Night: PARTIES. From weed parties on the beach with a couple of friends and a guitar to electro parties on the beach, with, in between, a few cocktails in one of the hot bars I visited in January, and a few clubs.

(Life is so hard, isn't it?)


In my suitcase?
-bikini, bikini, bikini
-sun-screen
-Nivea tanning lotion (because if it's ok to rock the white'n red look in London, I'm guessing that on the riviera, I'm more likely to be seen as a cross between a polar bear and a lobster, aka: not. sexy.)
-water-proof make-up
-camera
-little nothing dresses
-heels
-flip-flops
-A's favourite digestives he can't find in France
-condoms
Done!


I'm going to take a nap now, go to That Bar at 8pm, come back home before 3am to grab my bag and head to the airport. Yes, my flight is unfortunately at 6am tomorrow, but I do think it's a small price to pay!