Cocktail Hour

Yesterday:

Sunday morning in Moab. The Moab Diner isn't open,

or anywhere else breakfasty, but you can still get a venti soy latte at Starbucks in the City Market. God bless America.

A tumbleweed actually blew across my path. On a trail in Canyonlands National Park. Yee haw.

A deer, two hares, some chipmunk-squirrel creatures, a large rodent and numerous small gekkos also threw themselves at my car wheels. They all gambled and won. I think.

I wet my knickers and spent the day smelling like a 3 year old/93 year old with toilet training issues. Didn't make it to the 'restroom' in time - got into the stall then trapped myself in a buttons-belt-medical pump skirmish. Considered taking my wet knickers off (soaked enough to require intense toilet paper dabbing) then realised I haven't yet sewn up the hole on the backside, so it was a choice between showing the world my ass or staying downwind of any passers-by. It happens, get over it.

Watched the sun set over The Needles (part of the Canyonlands park). For about two hours there was just me, then at the last minute an RV of German roadtrippers arrived and took the best spot. They had large cameras; I felt inferior. So I didn't stay downwind of them. They left.

Sasperilla, root beer or black cherry soda with lots of ice in a tall cup and a straw.

I'm wondering why I haven't caught the sun. Anything to do with the factor 50 I'm using?

Have booked a room in a "farmhouse alternative to a motel" that makes its own blueberry jam and serves up "hearty country-style breakfasts, all-in". It's in Tropic, just outside Bryce Canyon National Park.

I get to drive route 24 through Capitol Reef National Park plus route 12 scenic highway. Depending on who you believe, it'll take 5 hours and 18 minutes (Google maps) or 8 hours and three minutes (Tom Tom). That's without pit stops and pulling over to gasp in delight at natural landforms.

I have not experienced any trouble with the Utah Police today and expect none tomorrow.

I can drive.

A month in the States: me, a car and just six months' driving experience. Yep, only passed my driving test in March (a late developer.)

Okay, the summarised version:

- I over-packed. But strangely, not enough clothes.

- I'm driving a very big and shiny silver Volvo which makes me feel all-growed-up.

- I walked out of an electronics store at Philadelphia Airport with a second iPod car connection thingy in my hand worth $90 and didn't realise until I was on the plane, looking in my bag.

- I gave it to the nice car hire guy who had a bad cold.

- I love Boulder Colorado, where my friend Kecia lives. We went for excellent sushi with her husband Koert and the lovely Amy. Kecia, Amy and I used to work together at an Amsterdam ad agency; now she works at Crispin Porter + Bogusky with Koert. We went home with CP+B swag bags, including logo'd Crocs.

- I went in to speak with the ad agency and met Alex Bogusky (cue appropriate messiah music).

- Kecia's dog ate my pale blue wedgy heels. Think 'shark attack' rather than 'gnawed a little bit'. I was a bit cross and swore somewhat. He was obsessed with my toes but only liked them dirty. There must be an associated fetish website out there somewhere.

- Kecia's kids are marvellous and idiosyncratic and fun. Kecia is a brilliant mom and I heart her.

- Malls are magical places of great shopability.

- Coffee any which way you like it, no worries, no trouble. Mmmm.

- Me and Kecia went for girly facials. Ahhhh.

- I bought a pair of North Face hiking/walking boots in dusky grey-cream-khaki and they are bringing me happiness.

- I have 12 litres of water in the back of the car. Just in case.

- Yesterday I drove for 7 hours, from Boulder Colorado to Moab Utah. Last night I slept like a baby.

- Arches National Park is wild-west glory. But I'm a month too late - one of the most famous arches collapsed the first week of August.

- My first scary thing has happened - and it's all my fault. On my way back from Arches to Moab. In Moab city centre, looking for the motel - and a Utah police car does the all-lights-flashing on me. I was doing 44 in a 30 zone. Policeman tells me, as a foreigner, I should be handcuffed (handcuffed!) and taken to the police station, awaiting bail. Plus $200 fine. After getting totally bitch-slapped by the cop, he lets me off. I manage to avoid puking in fear and relief. He even tells me nicely where my motel is. So that's all good.

Except a car I apparently cut up (but no way touched) pulls over, complaining of a damaged mirror. Three people get out of car, fussing and looking and talking to the cop and on and on. I should have got straight out of there, the cop said I was good to go, but wanted to wait for the cop car to go first. As I pull off, some guy from the other car starts taking photos of my car. I can see him in the rear-view mirror, big lens in hand. And you know what... THAT was the scariest thing. I fear Mormon retribution and kidnap into a Big Love family as wife number seven.

- I can't go out. I have to leave town, the state, the country. Will I get stopped at customs? Seriously. I must mask my identity immediately.

- Canyonlands National Park tomorrow. If I can avoid lock-up and make it in one piece.

The trouble with luxuriating in a cheeky afternoon nap is that you can't sleep come night time. It's 01.53 where I am - I'm bright eyed, bushy tailed and looking for food in the fridge.

Went to visit a friend who lives in Southern Spain. She comes from Scotland, lived in Amsterdam for more than ten years and now lives somewhere between Alicante and Valencia airports. She has a beauty salon and we went to be pampered.

My friend ET from London and I stayed in a fab finca, run by two Brits. My other friend Harsh Betty was tere at the same time - she stayed with Beauty Salon owner and had the pleasure of BSO's handful of a three-year old.

The whole area is distinctly lacking in Spanish vibe - its all Germans, Dutch and the omnipresent Brits. But we had a good time, avoiding tourists and ex-pats by heading to a lovely Spanish beach in our hire car most of the time. We nearly went to Valencia as I've been told its a gem of a city - but frankly, the weather was too good to waste on a car trip and a city wander.

We stayed in Benissa, or Calpe, or Moraira, or somewhere. We trooped off into the hills to a Sunday pork loin meat-fest with a bunch of friends. We went to various bays along the peninsula. We visited a brilliant church that was designed with a roof like the hull of a boat (and sported a Jesus made of rope on the outside wall). We ate a lot. We even discovered a restaurant which used Delftware mugs of traditional blue and white with windmills on them. Go figure.

The Swedish Chef and I went for a trip to the Amalfi Coast. I haven't been to Italy for more than 18 years, so it was a treat. I've always wanted to go to Pompeii, so we flew into Naples, used Sorrento as a base, and visited both Pompeii and Positano.

Sorrento is super-touristy (the damn Brit/American contingent get everywhere, all the time) but a good place to use as a base. It has a couple of lovely harbours and some good restaurants. Positano is also busy, even in September, but it felt less exploited. Maybe that's just because we didn't stay there so didn't notice it so much. The town hangs above the bay dramatically, higgledy-piggledy. We hired a boat and went along the Amalfi Coast. Beautiful. If I go to Southern Italy again I'll definitely stay further along the Amalfi Coast. And hire a boat for a longer period.

Pompeii was so much bigger than expected - and much more of a city too. I thought we'd be picking our way through excavation sites rather than obvious streets, clear cross roads and actual houses. Quite remarkable. The best place? The brothel with its ancient wall paintings showing 'positions for sale', as it were.

This week, I'm in love with extraordinary facial hair. A colleague turned me on to The World Beard & Moustache Championships. This site is worth a visit at any time of the year, but especially after the finals in Brighton. which were on the 1st September.

I'm working with a couple of young bucks who travelled over from LA just to take part. You can check out the various participants - and their extravagant costumes which add extra chutzpah to their gentlemanly tasches - at Elsden Images.

My favourites? Jes 'Baron Von' Cron and Adam Scott Paul. Jes was going for the dirty rascal look from Gangs of New York (Imperial category, 4th place); with Adam it was the English eccentric bathing gent, circa. 1880.

Dangerous stuff. You can even buy merchandise. How scary is that? Walk idly down a street and you see that photo of yourself you binned cos you looked just too trampy/fat/greasy/old/hairy/dirty for words.

My nightmare has taken full shape.

IS THIS YOU?

This website is why I bought a shredder.

I'm not working today and already I have achieved today's goal: I have just woken from a three-hour 'nap'.

Glorious.

Yes! It's the much sought-after celeb version of a game that I spent all yesterday afternoon playing. And much fun it was too.

So... of those listed here, who would you marry, or shag, or throw off a cliff? No, there aren't any other choices. Pick one.

1. Jonathan Ross (Juzzy, I know what you're gonna do)
2. Angelina Jolie
3. Britney Spears (looking forward to seeing if anyone will do anything BUT throw her off a cliff)
4. Keira Knightley
5. Matt Damon
6. Jeremy Clarkson
7. Dame Judy Dench
8. Rupert Everett
9. Madonna
10. Ricky Gervais
11. Sigourney Weaver
12. Eddie Izzard
13. Cate Blanchett
14. Lenny Henry
15. Pete Docherty
16. Tara Banks
17. Steve Coogan
18. Gregory Peck
19. Nicole Kidman
20. JK Rowling.

You know the game, right?

Pick someone you and friends know: would you marry them, shag them or throw them off a cliff? Hours of endless fun this afternoon, sitting outside on the cafe terrace in Vondelpark. Two work friends and I went through every guy in the office, department by department over a four-hour period.

No cheating - you have only three choices and you have to answer immediately. Sort of. Some poor guys got thrown off a cliff for being everso nice and all that, but just not the shagging/marrying kind. Others we surprised ourselves to find we'd shag even though we hate them. Okay, not such a huge surprise.

Then of course come the revelations - who has actually slept with who, when and what it was like. A couple of eye openers, I can tell you.

Visiting the New World of Coca-Cola in Atlanta has influenced me more than I thought. Maybe its the brainwashing from the clearly brainwashed individuals working at the place - all so squeaky clean and up and happy and full on. Or maybe its something they put in the drinks.

Either way, here's a great piece of work from those crazy Cola kids which I found out there in the blogosphere. Enjoy.

Went to Atlanta for work this week. It was up to 43 degrees, weather-checkers. Which is 112F, old-fashioned weather-checkers.

Strange place to be. You go from over-air-conditioned airport to brick-wall heatwave whilst climbing in a taxi. From the taxi you hit that heat wall again as you climb out and enter the overly-air-conditioned foyer of your hotel. You repeat this process, including only one other (overly-air-conditioned) work-related venue amongst the mix. That way, you only sweat for a few moments of your day. The rest of the time, you're in need of a cardy and wake up with a sore throat.

I'd entertain you with mad-cap tales of Atlantan antics, except there weren't any.

The only thing I did was go to The New World of Coca-Cola experience, which is actually pretty damned impressive. You get to see loads of iconic advertising through the years (me like the ads), gawp at Norman Rockwell paintings behind bullet-proof glass, admire a collection of old postcards that just happen to include Coke signs in small-town street scenes, and do a worldwide taste test. The result? Italy does it worst with a drink called Beverley. Yuck.

Went with O&J to the Kröller-Müller Museum. It's a fabulous art museum in the middle of a national park - de Hoge Veluwe - about an hour by car outside Amsterdam.

It is a beautiful park to be in - plenty of nature, deer, a sculpture park, pathways, forest, fabulous Museum, lakes and sand drifts. All to be experienced by white bikes. Except we didn't.

The white bike policy is a community-spirited affair. There are free, unlocked bikes for use, standing at various points in the huge park. You borrow one, cycle to your next destination within the park, then put the bike in the bike rack for someone else's enjoyment. In theory.

We walked from the car park through the forest to the Museum, as all the bikes were gone on such a fabulous sunny day. No biggie. But when we went to collect a bike after our wander through the sculpture park, we discovered some of them were locked. Cheeky minxes. Some selfish bastard had brought their own bike lock to secure four, five bikes at a time, to ensure they had bikes for the next leg of their wanderings.

Kind of defeats the object of the exercise. However, even that and the 45 minute queue for the cafe couldn't spoil a top day. O even wore a hat.

Travelling for work on Monday morning. Off to Atlanta for a few days - back Friday morning.

I checked the weather, it was 40 degrees yesterday. My boss questioned the number of days I was going, as if I actually want to travel to Atlanta, hang with a client, eat ribs and fries and burgers and shakes, then kick back for a few spare days in Atlanta, known for its shopping and culture (not), doing N.O.T.H.I.N.G. but melting and roasting simultaneously in the heat.

I'm not a fan of extreme weather conditions. Makes me think of Emperor Ming up there in the clouds, laughing in a sinister manner as he twiddles gold levers and twists chunky dials, changing the weather by shooting thunder clouds across the sky. At least, that's what happens at the start of Flash Gordon.

Last weekend was Gay Pride in Stockholm. I went along to watch with my friend Stoffe. His girlfiend Madde was volunteering and we saw her marching along in her customised t-shirt. No boring over-large white branded affair for her. Oh no. She ripped off the sleeves, cut the neck and made a pleasant Pocahontas fringe effect along the bottom.

It was an incredible turn-out and brilliantly organised. All sorts of people took part in the parade - old, young, friends-of, relatives-of, gay, lesbian, straight, trans-gender, bisexual, transvestite, confused, and one and on and on.

RuPaul [is he still going? Yawn] was on stage but for me, the big hit of the party afterwards was - SHOCK! - Banarama! They were triffic. Well, the two who make up Bananarama these days: Keren and Sarah. Yes, they must be in their 40s, but yes they looked like they were having fun. And EVERYONE knew the words. To everything. God, it was comedy.

But it was comedy. Me and Swedish Chef went to the land of Sweden and cycled around Skåne, the region he's from. It is beautiful - fantastic countryside, beautiful coastline and (mainly) flattish enough for a bike tour. Peddle bike, that is, no leathers on us.

We went to his home-town of Lund, Sweden's oldest univeristy city. We met Isabella and her boyfriend Markus in Malmo, then cycled off along the SE coast, north-eastwards through a really rather spectacular area called Ostelen.

Merry fun and japes were had by all. I'll never again think of Arthur Fowler when I hear the word 'allotment'. In Sweden they do it in style, complete with apple trees, traditional red-painted summer house and country garden.

We turned into grandma and grandpa on the empty terrace of a lovely restaurant overlooking a bay, watching the sun go down, reading. Blankets, rum in my tea, good food, aaaah.

Some of the landscape reminded me of Kent, where I grew up - corn on the cob crops, rolling hills, plenty of trees, fields and orchards. Just with the added dimension of pickled herring (yum yum yum, I love it), wooden red houses, empty sandy beaches and forests full of summer houses. Because it seems that everyone has one. Everyone.

Tampons. A necessary evil, I think you'll find. Why they come in little boxes of ten, or 20, I never understand - they are required each month. Why not buy in bulk and keep that VAT-added price down? Well, fact fans, in Sweden they do.

Not sure why it struck me as something worth taking a photo of, but this centrally-located mountainous display of tampons in a Swedish chemist pleased me. You can buy them by the bag-load, in packs of 100.

That's more like it.

Been in Sweden for a vacation. Lots of photos to share. In defiance of a linear narrative [ooh, get her, Ms English degree...] I am starting with the last thing that happened.

In Stockholm I stayed with old friends Stoffe and Madde at their flat, which has a fabulous terrace - small but perfectly formed for catching the evening sun. They have a couple of great neighbours, Gretchen and Aldy, who came round for the Swedish August tradition of a crayfish and vodka party. Tomas came too, along with Sophie and her 16 year old arthritic dog Isak, who immediately made himself at home on a cushion and only moved to growl at Gretchen when she inadvertently touched his ears. Go figure.

It's a fantastic tradition, singing Swedish aquavit/schnapps songs and picking at little red sea creatures. I was charged with cycling to the shop to buy beer - the other special drinking accompaniment. In a folly that I can only put down to a slip in concentration and need for better understanding of the Swedish language, I bought alcohol-free beer. Doh! Stoffe had a last-minute shopping spree to set the calamity straight.

It was a blast. Hard work, alcohol-fuelled, hot, stressful, bonkers, but brilliant.

Went to Cannes for a week with work to the Cannes Lions international advertising festival (the Oscars of the ad world). We stayed in a beautiful villa with a wonderful pool and I set up lots of interviews for my guys there.

We didn't win as much as we were expecting/hoping, but we did good nonetheless.

Meantime, we went to meetings, went to parties, went to the Gutter Bar (the answer's in the question) and had a BBQ pool party of our own. Joy.

During the pool party the land just over the way caught on fire - in a dramatic raging manner. Of course, we just kept swimming, eating and drinking. After all, what's a girl to do? Fire trucks came and went laden with men in helmets. All exciting stuff.

And they call it work.

Anybody out there seen the documentary Jesus Camp? Oh my gosh, as they say in the doc. Except not for the same reasons.

It's a documentary about the evangelical christian summer camps for kids in the States. I get so upset and bothered by this kind of thing. Poor little kids are being totally brainwashed by extremist christians who whip the children into a frenzy of hysterical worship and love for Jesus. Really terrifying to see.

These people running the camps - and the parents sending their kids to them - are utterly convinced they are the chosen people, selected by God to save the world. the blind self-righteous arrogance makes me choke.

The doc isn't saying that every christian is an extremist fundamentalism who belives in Creationism and who thinks its okay to preach to seven year olds that abortion is evil. There's an interesting guy who has a talkshow on Christian radio, who seems to be a standard guy. He has his religious beliefs, however, he thinks that these evangelical groups go way too far. Agreed. Way too far.

Of course, Bush has a piece of the action, via Ted Haggard who is/was the preacher to 30 million people through all his churches. Apparently they speak every Monday. Scary. Since the doc, though, Haggard has been outed as a sleazeball so that's good (click the link for CNN coverage).

Grrr. We didn't come from Adam's rib, people. get over it.

After an 18 week wait and fighting to receive a discount of just 5% as an act of goodwill, the new sofa has finally arrived! It looks swell and fits with 2 cms to spare at either end.

Bliss.

I stayed in all weekend and watched DVDs whilst laying on it like a dirty unwashed queen of TV. Really. All weekend.

Finally.

The razor-bite pain in my mouth came to an end fairly quickly once the tooth shard had worked its way out of the fleshy raw hole it was hiding in.

Funny how I went back to the dentist, who syringed the hole clean and told me it all looked well, but didn't manage to see the sharp tooth splinter of mouth evil.

Thank the tooth-fairy it came out of its own accord. One morning over breakfast. I dropped it on the floor and my friend's dog licked it up with glee.

Lee Mead won Any Dream Will Do on the BBC. He was my favourite from day one which shows I really can spot a musical theatre winner (it was the same with Connie).

It's a gift.

What to do with my Saturday evenings now...

Then my friends R&G bought me a ticket to go see the show in London. How relentlessly camp is that ;-)

Let joy be unbound.

I'm off to Cannes. For a week. With work.

Tee hee.

No, it isn't the Cannes Film Festival (that would be joy) but the advertising world's equivalent industry knees-up, with directors, producers, creatives, and such like from all over the world.

Cannes is weird - every week through the summer months there seems to be one festival or another. Hotels make a packet and residents leave town to rent out apartments for silly money.

I ain't paying. Who cares.

Daniel lost the sing-off to Lewis tonight, in Any Dream Will Do. Shock horror doesn't come close to expressing this surprise turn-up for the books.

Daniel is too nice, maybe that's it. Always polite, gracious, lovely smile, perfectly pitched voice, mature. Then along comes Lord Phantom and quashes his technicolour dream because he thinks he doesn't have what it takes to light up a west end stage. Remember - this from a man who married Sarah Brightman.

Yes, Lord Phantom knows his musicals, but look at him. He's not perfect.

Poor poor Daniel. Hopefully he'll get swept up into another musical theatre role - he did the swing song (Mack The Knife was it? I forget) with style and suave sophistication. Joseph just isn't the right vehicle for him, that's all.

If we all pray really hard, Craig and Lewis will get voted out next. Craig cos he ain't got it and Lewis cos he's 17 and therefore young - plenty of time yet, matey. I want to enjoy a final involving Lee (winner), Keith (happy to accept second place and an immediate musical counter-offer) and Ben (too immature and over-confident but strangely foxy in a very-young-boy manner; there's at least ten years worth of additional time for him to grow).