The Anti Charlie's Angels

To anyone who’s ever seen my office, it probably will not come as a surprise that I can’t find the cable to download my photos from St. Tropez. So for now, you’ll just have to imagine Pam and Kid Rock’s wedding décor (much classier than you’d expect) and the shockingly awful size of my arms (think not just “the size of thighs” but the size of multiple thighs) in sleeveless dresses I wore cardigan-less because I left my white cardigan at Pammy’s wedding reception.

The St. Tropez trip was better than expected, mostly because of the company of two freelancers. (We started calling ourselves the anti Charlie’s Angels). If I’d had to go to all these parties and clubs on my own, I might have gone crazy. Because there were few hotel rooms to be found, the three of us ended up sharing one room – and in the process of that and the reporting we spent so much time together that I practically felt bereft when I got back to London.

Worst, most St. Tropez pickup line: “What’s your name? I’ll name a yacht after you.” Unfortunately not uttered by the undeniably attractive Stavros Niarchos, but rather by a 45-year-old Danish businessman. I did not fall for it. (Upon hearing this line, my friend O. texted me: “So how’s the SS [my last name] today?” I am still giggling – though I did pause to wonder if this was some reference to my size. Sigh.)

And some numbers:

Cost of a glass of water at Les Caves du Roy at the Hotel Byblos: 24 euros.

Cost of a methusalah of Dom Perignon champagne at Les Caves: 30,000 euros (and club’s playing of Star Wars theme is free).

Total hours of sleep I got in five nights: 14

Number of times Paris Hilton offered me a joint in the Les Caves bathroom: 1

Number of assistants Diddy had hunting for the same diamond earring: 3

Number of times Diddy’s mom asked me where the Jacuzzi was: 1

Total number of women I saw with anything approximating a normal body fat percentage: 3.

Number of times French people bumped into me without saying "excuse me": Approximately 50.

Number of times I wished I could tell the Fig about it all: 6 (approx.)

Number of times I congratulated myself for having deleted his number from my mobile: 60 (approx.)

Average cost of white kaftan in St. Tropez boutiques: 400 euros.

Cost of the George of Asda white broderie anglaise dress I wore: 12 pounds.

Number of freelancers brave enough to wear white bath towels I took from the pool to Diddy's White Party, because they didn’t have anything else white: 2

Number of e-mails I got referring to me as the St. Tropez bureau chief: 1

Number of times a random guy in the parking lot flinched when we stopped him at 4 a.m. and asked him to take a picture of us posing a la Charlie’s Angels with the supersoaker we took from the White Party: 0.