I do, of course, write all the time so nice to be in Saint Tropez, but actually I am a village away; in Ramatuelle. After all, Saint Tropez has no beach so we relax here. And with us a lot of Dutch people, rich Russians and other people who have elevated seeing and being seen to a higher art.

I love it all and mostly wonder what is going on on all those 30-million yachts anchored here in the bay. I think something to do with lots of sex, drugs, squirting magnums of prickly lemonade and staff who are probably having a better time than the guests.

Particularly entertaining from an anthropological point of view, by the way. You see, these incredibly seaworthy yachts sail from the little port of Saint Tropez to the bay of Ramatuelle, no further. Bit of lunch, bit of mucking about, bit of us-know-us and then the same trip back in the evening. Go around the world, I think. Find adventure.

But no, it's a cream at Senequier in the morning, a gaspache de concombre at Nikki Beach and a disco party on your own boat in the evening.

But Saint Tropez is divine, of course. Just yesterday, Jetteke van Lexmond described it as The Efteling. Why? Because it is exactly the way you would draw it if you were allowed to create the ideal little bohemian coastal town. I have made lots of circumambulations around San Troupès, as they call it here, but had never been to the town itself.

Well in the harbour (but on a slightly more modest boat), a hundred times in Cannes and Nice, had lunch with Coco as many as 17 times in my mind, walked with my feet in the surf with Brigitte and lounged on a yacht with Grace Coddington. But in the flesh myself? So that had never happened.

Yesterday it was going to happen. We got into our exclusive Espace (of which I immediately encountered two of the same in the luxurious Initiale Paris version on the way, people have taste here) and set off towards the promised town. First we stopped at wine shop Millésima where Ruinart Blanc des Blancs were waiting for us in rows of three. We kept it modest with some bottles of rosé de la région, but of course I still had a look at all those Taitinger magnum bottles from the year 2000. How many of these they sold in a day I did not dare ask.

Then I smoothly parked in a nice little car park in the city centre. Right next to the Blanc Bleu shop. If you love the mariniere, this is your place. We used to go there all the time in Paris until it was taken over by Escales and it lost its magic for me. But as it turns out, the ‘mother shop’ still exists. Everything is handmade and each piece is unique. Immediately stocked up for him and her. For a Saint Tropez-worthy price, but we were immediately invited to a party at the people's home and besides, you have to reward initiatives like this.

As we walked past the boats, my daughter said, “Look, mummy, your boat.” Turned out this boat had buoys with the Chanel logo on them....

What I did find another witty detail was that in front of the walkway were all worn-out slippers and shoes. For that, they were allowed to stop by the Chanel shop here. I am available for some styling advice. In exchange for a trip from Saint Tropez to my little hut in Ramatuelle then.