la coco noire.

There is one reason and one reason alone why Saint Tropez holds a special place in my heart: it was the first place I ever sampled the delectable delights of the creme brulée ice cream. Now we all know that good food is the key to my heart/pants/inheritance tax so you can rest assured, that this place ranks pretty highly on my freakin'-naughty list. Beautiful as it is though, this little hubbub on the south coast of France has an incredible habit of reminding me just how poor I really am. You kinda feel like you can't afford to look at some of the shops here. Like some sort of Gucci clad man in boat shoes and a jumper flung frivolously around his shoulders is gonna demand your current salary and politely suggest you return to Bognor Regis.

Bleurgh. Bleurgh. BLEURGH. Yep that pretty much sums me up right now. Partly due to the ongoing inner turmoil of DO I OR DO I NOT TAKE A COAT / UMBRELLA / SKI BOOTS to work today because the damn weather can’t decide whether it’s coming, going, maybe leaving, possibly staying a bit later or not even bloody turning up at all.  And partly because, well, life is just a little bit shit sometimes isn't it? So in my most despondent yet actually incredibly poignant and reflective post yet, I leave you with photographs from a day of torrential downpour on my most recent holiday. Because you know what? You can't have a rainbow without a little rain.