Sunday, 3 March 2013

ST TROPEZ IS A HEDONISTIC LAVATORY

St Tropez has always terrified me.  Brazil too. I have never been a girl who could wear a string bikini and dance in the midday sun with champagne running down their bosoms.  Making love to the bottle. I have never understood the attraction of  nightclubs, The Cave or VIP. I have never found one interesting person hovering with a glass round a bar.  I always thought the girls were very déclassé, perfect tans, sequin dresses and spiky shoes are not for me. As for foot jewellery?.. 
I never understood Club 55 sweltering underneath the basket to protect you for the sun, whilst you are sprayed with a misty eau de poisson. Too hot, too close, too big lips, too big tits and on top of that, large amounts of more fish. Fish should stay in the sea swimming.
JUSTINE AND I IN MARGATE ON THE SET OF OF THE GUN THE CAKE AND THE BUTTERFLY
Air kissing, and bad breath from white wine. When I lived at Maison du Cap in Ramatoille, as the hostess, in this frightening atmosphere, I tried my best. I tried to make my guests welcome,   I am not a prude, but I like wit, things being well done and  refined. How refined can you be in a thong, flip flops, and a pair shredded shorts?  Too much cash, too big boats, are all too heavy by the sea, gobbling up the worlds resources blocking the horizon.   The only thing interesting is Brigitte Bardot.
I am not spinster I just do not like this type of hedonistic lifestyle.  I have learnt to deal with my loneliness.  May be I was brought up too well?. I was told thongs were common, and topless was seriously plebeian, and not even discussed.  I assumed I would not marry well if I showed my nipples.  Ibiza and San Tropez are both bombastic. I am not laid back, I do not like to eat when my toes are near my hands, and sorry I do not like to play endless rounds of backgammon in the midday sun.  

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