Pronounce that properly as "Pa-rie’"…. Not how the rest of the uncultured, unwashed masses says "PEAR-riS"…
After a long flight of disrespect, ignominiously STUFFED IN TO A BAG instead of the first class travel I am entitled to, I was ready to relax and unwind once we arrived at the hotel in Paris. Especially after the difficulties at passport control on arrival in France. Here’s a summary of my difficulties:
1. Passport guy did NOT know who I was.
2. Apparently "International celebrity" doesn’t translate in French.
3. But "mythical creature stuffed animal so really doesn’t necessitate a passport" does. (The cover story J tells for me…)
We had to ride the trains and then walk to the hotel. WALK. Like commoners.
I, of course was carried.
…as was the tiny interloper (inter-Jack-a-loper?), who will now assume the role of my valet and personal assistant on my tour of Europe, but he’s teeny so he could hardly be expected to keep up hopping along. And he would look ridiculous.
On a side note – can you believe my "traveling companions" (read: my staff) expect me to SHARE a room with them? And with Cornwallis the intern-tiny-jackalope?
I get no respect.
So I decided to relax at the hotel alone while the 3 of them went off about some blue bike thing.
…Apparently my valet and assistant thinks he can perform his duties while out of my presence, but I let this pass for now.
And I was sick of watching the reunited love-birds make out.
Far too much kissing and hugging and crying and "I missed you so much!" blather… Ugh.
I’m going to enjoy the 4star hotel amenities while they snog around town.
