The Monaco, Nice and Cannes

Ok, where should I start? Maybe 4 o'clock Saturday morning, when I roll out in the kitchen and discover norwegian Bendik sitting there in an all white outfit. He´s playing cards with Minke, they just got home from a night that started with dressing ugly-theme-party at Katreens and apparently finished at our house. "What are you gonna eat for breakfast", asks Bendik and follows my every movement. "Can I slice the cheese? Are you tired? Am I annoying you?"

I'm at the bus station at 4.56 and the bus leaves at 5.15.
We arrive in Monaco at mid day and it's sunny and warm and the sea sparkles along with the ridiculously big yachts in the port. Some of them are the size of Stenaline and one has the name "just another toy".
Monaco is scary. It's too clean and pretty and everything looks like it has been built a day ago. It's like a Barbie world in french. Apparently, it has 0,0% poverty and I wonder how that works. Obviously, someone has to be working to keep everything like this. But how can they afford to live here?
We spend the day in Monaco and arrive in Nice le soir. We're staying at a "Premier classe hotel" and since we left, we've all been fantasizing about white sheets and bathtubs, champagne and je ne sais quoi. But the dream ends brutally as soon as we get into the elevators. First of all, the doors takes about ten minutes to close. The journey itself seems to develop the aging process and by the sound of the elevators, I start to fear that we will never reach our goal. In the end I give up my picture of a first class hotel and am grateful if only I ever get into the fucking room. Which, as we enter, looks like a train cabin and offers a lovely view of the parking outside a Citroën shop. Since we're only in Nice for the night we only have time for dinner in town before going back to the hotel and crash.

After breakfast at the hotel (pretty much the same standard as the rest of it, unhealthy is the keyword) we move on to Cannes!
So. Cannes. Cannes is kind of the same shit as Monaco, beautiful sights,beautiful boats, beautiful people. We stroll around the film festival-area and look for stars. Plenty of red carpets, photographers and people with V.I.P- passes but not really anyone famous. Until we se him. Johhny Depp. Dressed in... a Jack Sparrow outfit, strangely enough.
Ok,so it's not really Johnny, just some random guy presumably hired by the production company, but it's as close as we get to the real thing. As we stroll around we also pass by Hotel Martinez (now there is first class for you). A lot of people and photographers standing outside looking in, so this should be something. But after a while seeing nothing but bored non-famous rich people, we give up and start looking for other things to do. We continue walking along the beach and eventually end up in the old town where we have coffe next to Brad Pitt who persuades me to marry him and be the stepmother of his children. I say no Brad, what about Angelina?, but he insists.
The wedding will be on my birthday next week. We'll try to keep it as informal and simple as possible. A small reception at Hotel Martinez. Only a few people invited. Elton John and Bono and...
Oh do shut up.
17.30 we all sit on the bus back, slightly sunburned and I'm home at 3.30 Monday morning. I could get used to this kind of living.