If I’d been a Roman, I’d have said: Stuff it. I’ll be dead soon. Bring me another bunch of grapes and a wench to shag. Failing that, a bloke in a toga. I’m really not fussy.
T
Category: The Wanderluster
Today, I leave the hotel where the shower shares its space with the toilet (I swear that standing in the toilet bowl and flushing would be easier than navigating the shower) and head to an Air BnB for a week. Oh, what fresh hell awaits me there.
I want to thank my Facebook friends for the truly breathtaking love and support on my feed. I’m sorry if I alarmed anyone, but I felt I was falling from a great height with nowhere to land. You have been my rescue pad and I appreciate it more than I can ever express.
‘I hope you’re not a dilly dallier, because we’ve got five minutes to catch our train, and if you’re going to be dilly-dallying, we’ll need to be ahead of you.’
Who knows. I might become Bulgaria’s answer to Nigella. Just so long as I can find a Bulgarian plastic surgeon to put in the groundwork.
Who wants to travel more? Who wants to travel more cheaply? Who wants to fly in business class for less than the price of an economy ticket? Yes, all of you.
So this guide is for you. Use it and you’ll never look back – or turn right when you board an aircraft –ever again.
And then, the request: would you give up your seat, because . . . even more hushed tones: “We have a celebrity on board who would like it.” Minutes passed. Oh, for God’s sake, speak up: who is it? La Toya Jackson.
United, at last: she was in 5K but wanted 7K. I had it.
All the abuse did was to confirm for me that the city is everything I said it was, and it reminded me that I’d also forgotten to mention provincial, parochial and, clearly, a haven for expats who have nothing better to do than abuse others on social media.
The truth is, that if a man is single, there is something wrong with him (all the good ones really are taken); but if a woman is single, the chances are that she has had the good sense and guts to ditch the men who have that something wrong with them.
I never dreamed that the first (and only) occasion (to date) that I would pull an emergency cord would be on the Paris Metro. Nor did I imagine that I would bring the whole underground system to a crashing halt with a security alert that sent half the Paris police force running down into the confines of the Rue du Bac station, guns at the ready.