J.P

Getting lost in Paris in the springtime. I long to visit and just walk everywhere: the museums, the cafés, and drink in the atmosphere and culture. For some reason in Paris, like no other major western city, I always feel if I want to be alone, I can be; I can morph into the hustle and bustle of the city and become invisible. But at the same time, if I ever get tired of [being alone], it’s almost magical that I will run into someone I know, or reach out and make a new acquaintance who has an interesting story.

Any hotel that treats you like a dear friend and does so with integrity and genuine warmth. Claridge’s in London, The Bowery Hotel in New York City and Hotel Santa Caterina in Amalfi. And it must have a great bed and wonderful sheets!

Pfeiffer Beach in Big Sur and Rincon – both in California.

I have to say I love travelling solo. I can experience everything anew; I am only responsible for myself. I treasure such adventures.

Something to read – meaning an actual book. My Paul Smith boots because my feet never ache wearing them, no matter how many miles I cover walking. Cashmere sweater. Yoga pants, Buck Mason tees.

I guess in hindsight my beloved string vest in the 1980s was the epitome of naff!

Books, pen, writing notebook, water, Lavett & Chin coconut facial mist and rose squalane oil.

Just keep going! Carry on. Try and acclimatise to the rhythm of the place you touch down in. If wide awake then read until drowsy, or just lie in the dark and attempt to be very calm and meditative.

Great question. Many times I’ve enjoyed the journey as much and sometimes more than the destination – this makes me think of the train journeys I’ve taken across Europe and across America. I absolutely love taking the train. It seems to be a lot less stressful and the rhythm is comforting. It’s a time to get lost in one’s imagination, read, write, meet new people, and enjoy an ever-changing landscape.

We were shooting the Connolly campaign in Scotland a couple of years ago and got caught in a massive snow storm. Trains were massively delayed and signals and lines down. What was meant to be a four-hour journey to Yorkshire became a 14-hour journey. We were slammed like sardines in-between carriages and although it was obviously an absolute pain, it also brought out – for the most part – a great humour and camaraderie between the travellers. You remember the wit and smile, not the hassle.

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