Early in the summer of 1990 Jane, Sarah and I took a two week holiday in Frasquenet. In order to offset some of the home loan I had taken out, we had decided to rent the house out to holiday makers, in the weeks we didn’t need it. Advertisements had been placed in the Sunday Times and Exchange and Mart, which had resulted in six weeks of rentals having been taken up. Our paying guests were due to start arriving the day after we were planning to depart back to England.
Much of our holiday was spent making final improvements to the house and arranging for a cleaner to visit in between guests. Michael at the supermarket sent around a local lady in her early thirties named Isabelle for an interview. Due to language differences it must have been one of the shortest interviews in the history of interviewing. We hired her immediately.
Naturally we also had a good number of afternoons on the beaches at Narbonne plage and Gruissan, as well as a meal of local fare at a different restaurant each evening. It still required bribes to stop Sarah from shouting “grapes” as we drove around the vineyard covered countryside and to behave herself during the longer meals.
Having returned to the UK, the feedback we received from guests staying in the house was very good, but we were disappointed to find that the letting season was very short. It seemed that no one was interested in renting during the period October to June. This meant that rentals covered the cleaning and advertising, but not much of the home loan repayments.
Soon enough 1991 arrived and it was time for me to make a spring cleaning trip, before the summer letting season started. Of course that had really become just an excuse for a few days of good food and wine with some friends.
Mark and Pete were duly invited to accompany me again. I had moved the planned month to May, in the hope of having better weather than the previous year. Unfortunately Pete was not able to make it. Obviously during our earlier trip, I had worked him too hard and had been too stingy with the champagne.
Since three is better than two, we sought a substitute for Pete and eventually roped in Sam, a photographer friend of mine. This time we planned to fly to Paris, stay there for one night and then take the very fast train, the TGV, to Narbonne.
I waited at our agreed meeting place at Gatwick Airport on the appointed Saturday morning. I always arrive at airports long before I need to, so it was no surprise that I had been waiting for over an hour, before the first of my fellow travelling companions came into view. I started to worry a bit because Mark had recently started hinting that he was involved in a problem project, which might upset his plans.
“Did you remember the wide angle lens?”. “No problem, I bought along my very best one”, replied Sam. Getting Sam to come along had been a good move. He would be able to provide much better photos for use in my holiday home letting brochure, than the ones I had been using up to that point.
We checked in and waited a while longer for Mark. Eventually we decided we had better head for immigration. Once through, Sam stocked up on two duty free allowances of cigarettes. I’m a non smoker, but Sam smokes more than enough for two.
Mark’s non participation in our adventure was finally confirmed when the aircraft doors were closed without him having boarded.
We lifted off and as soon as the stewardess appeared, Sam ordered a beer. “Lucky you don’t have to drive today” I observed, as I ordered my own beer.
I had decided that I needed to educate Sam early on, about the need for the designated driver to remain sober. Previous punishments including a driving ban, bore testament to the fact that Sam is not quite as conscientious as I am, when it comes to observing drinking and driving laws.
“Actually, there was something I meant to tell you earlier. I was waiting for Mark to turn up, since I thought it would help to soften the blow”.
“What Blow?” I asked as calmly as I could.
“Well actually my driving licence is with the authorities, being endorsed for a traffic offence I committed last week”.
“But that means I’m the sole driver”. As the realisation of the implications dawned, I must have looked despondent. But I have to say, Sam didn’t seem particularly phased at the prospect of being the sole drinker.
“By the way, I gave up smoking this morning, but with so many duty free cigarettes in my bag, I think I’ll take it up again”. Obviously Sam was not going to let anything deter from his enjoyment of our little trip.
We only had time to consume two beers each, before we found ourselves touching down at Charles de Gaulle Airport.
We caught a train to central Paris and then took a taxi.
Sam already had a reasonable knowledge of Paris, having spent several weeks there each year, covering the fashion shows for the London newspaper, which employs him. My own knowledge of this wonderful city, had previously been confined to the Peyriphique and unintended deviations from it.
Sam had booked us into rooms in a hotel he knew in the Madeleine district. It was quickly apparent that this was not a five star hotel. However given the normal high prices for Paris at the time, it certainly seemed like good value. Perhaps this was because it was being refurbished, which meant there were cordoned off areas, lots of dust and a strong smell of glue solvent. No doubt had we been there for much of the day, we would have also noticed the sound of hammer drills.
Having checked into the hotel we embarked on the first mission I had set for us, the acquisition of a toothbrush.
I should say that this was to be no ordinary toothbrush, but one designed by the famous designer Philippe Starck. I had been convinced by a British TV documentary, that a Starck toothbrush would one day be a collectors piece. I planned to store one away as part of my art collection. In the event, the range of contrasting colours available caused me to buy half a dozen of the rather expensive Starck tooth brushes.
Sam seemed to be highly impressed, because he bought one as well. I later discovered this was because the mental effort of remembering to bring the wide angle lens for his camera, had caused him to forget to pack a toothbrush. He needed his Starck collectible to clean his teeth.
Toothbrushes acquired, we set about finding the Starck lemon squeezer featured in the same program. This futuristic juicer looks somewhat like a monster from ‘War of the Worlds’.
An hour or two of failed enquiries later, during which time Sam purchased a plastic encased Eiffel Tower surrounded by miniature Christmas tree type lights, we abandoned the hunt for the lemon squeezer and reverted to one of our original intentions. An exploration of the seedy bits of Paris.
It quickly became clear that Pigalle contained many rip off establishments, similar to ones, I had previously believed, only existed in London’s Soho.
I had been caught out in Soho a couple of times, at friend’s stag parties. You are invited into a cellar to see a ‘sexy show’. The entry fee includes a drink. This turns out to be non alcoholic beer or a soft drink. If you buy a second or third drink, each one costs more than the entry fee. A girl will try to sit with you. If you don’t get rid of her within 30 seconds or so, say goodbye to the credit limit on your best piece of plastic. The ‘sexy show’ seldom actually materialises.
As we walked down Pigalle, we were regaled, by girls in miniskirts, with invitations to see Sexy Shows. We reasoned that this was Paris, not London’s Soho. Eventually we succumbed and were lead down steps to a large cellar Theatre Club.
Apart from ourselves, a barmaid and two hostesses the place was empty. The stage was not even lit. The two hostesses tried to sit with us, but realising where the path we were now treading, was likely to lead, we turned them away. They glared at us and said ‘Nice Gentlemen buy us champagne’.
The hostesses and bargirl left by the exit, presumably to entice other naive punters into the “Theatre”, where we had been left entirely on our own. Sam and I, sat back in our chairs in the almost dark room awaiting the show, which we had already guessed, would probably not be staged.
We chatted for a while, but quickly became bored. Eventually Sam lit a cigarette and I ascended the stairs to the street and confronted our hostesses. “So when does the show start?”
“Maybe two or three more hours, cheri, but it could take longer”, came the reply.
I descended back into the theatre and noticed that Sam was looking rather relaxed and pleased with himself. I updated him on the planned timing of the ‘Sexy Show’. We swiftly consumed our non intoxicating beverages and then took our leave.
As we marched swiftly along Pigalle, I noticed that Sam was casting frequent and furtive glances over his shoulder. I turned around to see what was worrying him. “What ever you do, don’t look back”, he muttered conspiratorially.
Later as we sat on a bench, with all the demeanour of a pair of down and outs, swigging cheap tasting sparkling wine, from a bottle labelled “Champaigne”, I agreed that Sam’s theft of the said bottle from the ‘Theatre bar’, had gone a long way to retrieving some self esteem.
I could hardly believe that we had been so easily taken for suckers. I felt even better when he fumbled around inside the lining of his coat, and produced a second purloined bottle.
Chastened by our experience and a bit wobbly on our legs, we returned to our hotel to spruce ourselves up for dinner.
Sam used his knowledge of the City to guide us to a restaurant specialising in seafood. We limited ourselves to three courses and white wine. The prawns in garlic cream sauce, with tiny crescent shaped flaky pastries were delicious. The sole with lemon was just right and the peach sorbet with a dash of Benedictine was a grand finale. After that, we drank coffee and Sam chain smoked several more cigarettes.
We followed the meal with a cautious stroll along the rue St Denis. Unlike Pigalle, what was on offer here seemed to be for real, but it was not at all appetising.
Turning in at a reasonable hour, ensured that we were at the Gare de Lyon, in plenty of time to catch our train the following morning.
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