There is a small delay in this travel post-it because of the kickbladder nonsense, a bit like the train from...
This was the mother of all upgrades. (That meme credit goes to the late Saddam Hussain, RIP)
Here's the full breakdown; Saturday morning, I'm going on a trip to Paris which I would have started on Sunday night or Monday morning but because it's Paris I thought it would be smart to go early and take Girlfriend with me. In an unusual move, inspired by Girlfriend's travelling habits, I decided to call the hotel to confirm the reservation. No reservation, hello shitfight.
During the taxi ride to train station and while boarding the train I'm on the phone to the travel agent trying to explain why he is an idiot and I hate everything in the world ever because all I wanted was a f***ing fried egg on b****rd toast but instead I've been talking to f***head all morning and I haven't even started yet so don't start. JJ gets grumpy when he's hungry.
Once the room was booked, for two night only, I slept (listening to Slayer) through the rest of the train ride. Not really nice for Girlfriend but I'm best isolated when I'm in that mood.
So, we had a good time in Paris, met with friends, had lunch, cycled through the city, went for drinks, went for dinner and it was the music festival night so we saw plenty of bands on the streets, it was great, hot and sunny, everything perfect.
Monday morning, I took my luggage with me to the training centre and called the travel agent again. That very night I was checked in to the George Washington Suite. Normally this suite costs 1,900 euro per night, I got a free upgrade because someone screwed up my booking. Imagine a great big hotel room with a massive bathroom and then there's another room with a sofa, coffee table, two armchairs and a dinner/meeting table with six seats. There's a huge tv and minibar in the bedroom and another huge tv and minibar in the other room. The funny thing was the whole training session could have easily fitted into my suite. The less funny thing was that I didn't mention it in case some idiot took me seriously, there are a lot of idiots around, I know.
I was in my suite revelling in my luck when the lights went out. I checked with reception and they gave me a gallic shrug over the 'phone, the light's were out on the whole street, "nothing we can do". It was late anyway so I just went to bed. About 2.35am the lights came on again; "what the fuck? who's there? oh shit the power cut". I stumbled around and put all the lamps out, eventually I headed back to bed still half asleep and fell over a foot stool and scraped my arm against the arm chair. I lost quite a lot of arm-skin that night. I wonder what housekeeping thought of the blood on the sheets? I was too sleepy to get first aid, I just ran it under the tap and went back to bed, carefully.
Next couple of days were fairly event free, Germans won at football, the sun came up in the morning, blah blah. On the way home the railway track caught fire and the train was delayed a collosal one hour and thirty five minutes. The usual argy bargy with the French, first some bugger in my seat complaining that someone else was in his seat who in turn was complaining that someone else was in his seat. This is the Gallic way I suppose, instead of sorting the first problem out, just nick someone else's seat and force him somewhere else and so on until half the carriage is irate. Anyway, I wasn't having it. I put my bags down and said "That's my seat and I'm going to get it", I didn't even shout but the guards got busy and everyone got moved. It never ceases to amaze me how easily these things are sorted out.
Now there's free internet on this Thalys thing I've written all this before the train even moved, but I'm not publishing it until that damned kickbladder is finished and I can go home and have a decent cup of tea.
So now it's time, obviously the Germans lost the next game but the records will show that I made forty quid even after the pony I conceded to gothic.