Homesick, moi?
It’s hard to be homesick in Cannes when the Croisette is full of London ad people talking about data and content. Ah, there’s nothing better than having all the predictable comforts of home, when abroad is there?
I notice many middle-aged London ad men are finally getting to wear that questionable rolled-up trousers and loafers-with-no-socks combo without people laughing at them, in another triumph for creative freedom at Cannes Lions.
In fact, any feelings of homesickness I might have had were quashed the instant I landed at Nice airport. This was because I had a London black cab waiting for me, courtesy of Johnny Fearless. The agency has kindly brought black cabs to Cannes to ferry delegates around London-style. The cabs may also possibly confuse very drunk/drugged people who, on seeing them, will think they’re in Soho on an exceptionally warm evening and that Cannes was just a bad dream.
My cabdriver was French however, so there wasn’t as much bigotry as you’d expect from a London cab journey. He was also driving slower down the motorway than a pensioner on a Pifco hairdryer. I guess you can’t have it all.