CULTURE CLASH

I have an annoying disease that whenever I arrive somewhere I wish to be somewhere else. I arrived at this hotel, the Pan Dei, a perfectly charming hotel in the centre of St Tropez, only to discover that it is virtually impossible to sit outside and sunbathe. I immediately wanted to leave. Then the girl on the desk tried to be welcoming and say I could move some chairs in order to get the sun, I imagined all the furniture in the place being turned upside down for my sun worshipping.

I feel acutely uncomfortable, that is the problem. I seem to be never able to rest here for one second. Last night there was a band droning terrible hit numbers from twenty years ago in a flat harmony and this morning I was bullied to wake up by drilling and the clunking of plates. No, it's not for me. I then go for a shower and there are no shower doors and the privacy is totally lacking so whilst washing I have friends going to the loo and cleaning their teeth all at once. There is no peace at all. The night before we had dinner here with their semi bourgeoise clientele who looked shocked at my purple, blonde and black hair, and platform bovver boots by Robert Clergerie, and french beret. I was served a medley of Thais cuisine all squashed prettily in a modern way onto one plate.

I am unhappy, as somebody I had lunch with at Club 55 told me I had put on a lot of weight. Well I have not, but that HRT has made me heavier than normal and I swear it's increased my appetite. It sort of upset me as I looked at the man whose skin was terrible and his tummy hung over his trousers, I thought it's still a man's world. How dare he. Anyway my younger son said to me I can do what I like, I look fantastic and I am a fifty year old woman. Out of the mouths of babes.

As for the Pan Dei, I am gobbling up breakfast and going to stay with my good friend Enrico Navarra who has a beautiful house above St Tropez - and although his night time energy is unsurpassed, his house is in blissful solitude. I did several books with him and he is virtually the only man in my life who has done what he said he would do. I photographed a book for him called Made by Indians and he has more style in his little finger than the architect for Pan Dei who has mixed up Bali with Morocco, added a dash of India and credit card of Thailand with the rudeness of the Southern French Belle.