Everything You Need to Know About Cannes (Lions)

The annual pilgrimage of adland’s finest is nearing, as the usual suspects prepare to descend on the Croisette in M&S linen shirts, pastel chinos and some truly criminal boat shoes.

With just two weeks to go, I’ve been thinking about how to prepare for Cannes so that when this Welsh dragon lands on the Riviera, I’m fully armed for the week ahead. 

So, in the spirit of self-preservation (and maybe to help a few first-timers too), I’ve put together the ultimate guide to surviving Cannes Lions - without a single mention of panels, parties, or purpose-led storytelling.

Let’s begin.

Bring suncream stronger than your willpower

As a proud Welshman, it’s no secret that my porcelain skin is built for cloud cover and thunderstorms - not the scorched pavements of the Côte d’Azur.

So this year, I’ll be heading straight to Boots for industrial-strength SPF 75. None of that factor 50 nonsense or coconut-scented misting spray. I need the good stuff, the kind that makes your face look like it’s been laminated.

This isn’t about skincare. This is about survival of the fairest. 

For those keeping an eye out for me, you’ll spot me by the glint of zinc on my nose and, quite possibly, a novelty umbrella hat I panic-bought at the airport and am now wearing with zero irony. Or dignity. 

Rosé resistance: How to keep restraint, and fail dramatically 

I’ve made it very clear that I will not, under any circumstances, be drinking this year. 

My body is a temple (not a pile). I’m hydrated. Clear-headed. Spritely.

I’ve even written this blog as a public declaration of sobriety to keep me accountable. And, my wife will read this. 

And yet…there is something about a chilled glass of pink-delight in 35-degree heat that whispers sweet morsels of pleasure and abandonment to my soul. If you find me somewhere between a fourth glass of rosé, and an espresso martini, just know: you led me astray. I was pure once. For absolute transparency, I will blame you, and the temperature. 

My Body is My Temple (Until It Isn’t)

Not sure if you all know, but I’ve been boxing this year. Early starts. Cold showers. Protein shakes. 10,000 steps before breakfast. You’d think this wouldn’t be compatible with a week in Cannes.

You’d be right.

But the truth is, we all need stamina for the south of France. Expect to clock up 30,000 steps a day, between beachside catch-ups, tactical coffee breaks, and weaving through Le Croisette trying to avoid people you vaguely remember from the AOP awards in 2011 (and some best forgotten). 

And if, hypothetically, I do succumb to the sweet siren song of ice-cold beer and late-night rosé, you’ll probably find me at 8pm whispering “just one” as I fire up Google Maps and reroute to the nearest McDonald’s.

(It’s behind the train station. I’ve checked. Here for ease.)

The Gutter bar denial

Every year, I promise myself I won’t end up at the Gutter Bar. “It’s not for me,” I say. “I’m too old for that.”

But, if Cannes has taught me anything, it’s this: all roads - no matter how noble and sanctimonious - lead to a 2am conversation with someone who once founded a programmatic startup called AdCoin or something equally unholy.

If you find me there - sunglasses on, clutching a warm beer, pretending not to be having the time of my life - please, for the love of all things Wales, call me an Uber.

My final words of wisdom.

Before I leave you to pack your linens and Lynx Africa, here are a few of my favourite non-industry Cannes spots - for when you want to escape the adtech yachts and 45-degree keynotes.

• Bobo Bistro – healthy, whilst full of cheese

• Le Caveau 30 – to soak up the rose with salty fries

• La Môme – ideal when someone else is paying.

• McDonald’s – for when you lose all sense of dignity. It happens.

Oh, and if you want to not eat with me, just suggest a 9pm dinner. I’m a strict 6pm man. Sleep is sacred.

That’s it for now. No industry waffle. No inspiration porn. Just one man, his SPF 75, and an ambition to make it through the week without ripping my favourite blue striped cotton blend shirt (yes this did happen in 2019, and yes I do have the photos). 

See you on the Croisette. Maybe.

Oh, and one final tip? Bring Chub Rub. You’ll thank me later.