HOT CROSS BUNNY

I am a bit late with my Easter posting, but it's been a helluva week. Back from Paris Monday morning and nose straight to the grindstone. The leader of the Spanish Lyric Orchestra of Brussels, Don Gonzago de Sol y Sombra, known to the troops as Gonzo, has had me stamping, kicking, flouncing, tossing my hair and clicking my castanets. Quite the hot cross bunny, I was. And I only work in the back office. He is of the old school Mediterranean macho breed, requiring both hands holding, which means he has to hold the baton between his knees. His French is poor and his English non-existent. My Spanish has been picked up along the road, between hanging out with South American dissidents in Geneva and the occasional vacaciones. Hence my usual morning greeting is "Venceremos! Vamos a la playa" which tends to make him even more confused than he is already.

Tango dancers by Botero

Back in Paris, Vi and Desmond had their charming little granddaughters Hermione and Hepzibah out for the weekend, so I took them all out for a lovely Lebanese meal at Phénicia. It's posh Leb, with tablecloths, Fairouz warbling discreetly in the background and subdued lighting, none of your doner kebabs and belly dancers wobbling their navels in your face. Vi and I clinked kir royales and Desmond woke up long enough to order a pastis, before demolishing a selection of mezze, which if I remember correctly, consisted of kebbe (lemon shaped meatballs with a crunchy coating), stufffed vine leaves, spicy sausage, tabboulé and Lebanese flat bread. The Hornblowers have healthy appetites, and even the children attacked a main course. I had skewered lamb, which was tender and perfectly cooked - just pink inside. The wine was Lebanese Chateau Musar and surprisingly pleasant.

Children get bored easily, so I lent Hepzibah my camera to keep her quiet. She took some rather good pictures of the food:

Kebbe by Hepzibah Hornblower

but being a typical 9-year-old, found the Botero painting on the wall hilarious. It's a bit out of focus. Can you see which part of the painting it is, boys and girls?

Hepzibah found the "bot" in Botero

Travel broadens the mind, they say. I often return from Paris with some new musical discovery, since my friends there are into music big time and always manage to introduce me to something new. I was pleased with myself to find they were all into Beirut, who I found all by myself and brought to your attention last year. My latest musical discoveries are Scousers The Coral, Corsican-born singer-songwriter Bertrand Burgalat, and AIR, a smooth electrojazzy duo who had a hit a few years back with "Cherry Blossom Girl". You may be more down wiv de kids than moi, so these bands may already be known to you, but I was delighted to find that even my French colleagues had not heard of Bertrand Burgalat. While we were all having a Sunday afternoon siesta, Vi soothed us with recordings of the talented Regina Spektor and An Electronic Tribute to Abba, which was not half as corny as the original.

Happy Easter to all, and remember, Jesus died for you.

LES NEIGES D'ANTAN

The mercury has finally heaved itself into double figures and I am spending the weekend in my spiritual home, the City of Lights, eternal Paris, for some R&R with the Hornblowers in their luxurious pad ten minutes from the Arc de Triomphe and a little bit of business about a handbag.


Although, you know, the old place isn't what it used to be. It's all getting a bit pedestrian for my liking. There are Starbucks everywhere, for God's sake. McDonald's is still going great guns, even though they're Frenchified it somewhat. Monoprix, my favourite shop, has gone all trendy, and everywhere is non-smoking these days - how's an existentialist supposed to pose without a Gitane in hand? I'm not even that keen on the new sparkly Eiffel Tower, frankly I think it's cheap and nasty, but it makes the nouveau riche Chinese tourists go "ooh".


When I lived there, there was magic in the air. Surreal things would happen. Once, after a night on the town, I was sauntering down the Champs-Elysées to catch the last metro, when I caught in my peripheral vision someone walking behind me, slightly to the side, under the trees. I looked back over my shoulder and saw - I kid you not - Charlie Chaplin waddling down the avenue. He waggled his moustache and tipped his hat. I stopped to let him catch me up. "Bonjour" he said, offering me his arm. And Charlot and I walked all the way to the metro arm in arm. That was how Paris was in those days. Mad.





But some things don't change. The Seine is still the most picturesque and romantic city-centre river in the world. The Parisians are still stylish, elegant and arrogant. The smell of a fresh baguette is still heavenly. And whenever I'm there, I'm 28 again.

CLOUDS ON THE HORIZON

At last I have found my dream man. Sir Bonar Neville-Kingdom is the government's new Data Sharing Commissioner, and is demonstrating his computer-friendliness on a Facebook page and a clip on YouTube. He even 'Tweets'! He is divinely erudite - he can speak French, Swedish, Arabic, and even quotes poetry in High Persian - swoon-inducing stuff, girls! He makes Stephen Fry look like one of the Mitchell Brothers. He has that ineffable confidence that you only get from an Oxbridge education, but he's not elitist - he's a fan of Lily Allen for goodness sake - and is certainly up to speed with what's going on in the world of IT - here are some of his 'Tweets':

"It seems that my staff have put me on 'Face Book' and that I have several 'fans'. How very gratifying."

"I see no reason why taking a routine rectal DNA sample should be seen as any more instrusive than using words such as "Good day, Madam."

"Ah. Sandwiches. How lovely."


If you have a Face Book you can become a 'fan' and read the full extent of his wisdom, or even receive his 'Tweets' (whatever they are!). Here is his Face Book page.

Some people - Luddites, so they are - are opposed to the government's plan to centralize all information on the internet - or 'cloud computing' as the boffins call it. They say it's not secure. They say it could be misused, or even lost! Honestly, some people will pick holes in anything won't they, especially if it's going to improve our lives. Tall poppy syndrome. Sir Bonar, on the contrary, assures us that it is perfectly safe and will be securely encrypted by the boys in Cheltenham. It will be called the G-Cloud - not the G-spot, as Sir Bonar jokingly (I think) calls it. It will save the government loads of money - and no risk of losing our records any more - unless the internet blows up of course!

We, the taxpaying public, are apparently the owners of a number of Europe's banks now. Did they tell us when we would get our dividends? I don't even remember expressing an interest in buying a bank. Well apparently I'm a part owner of Dexia now, and don't even have a say in how it's run. The bankers, on the other hand, who caused all this mess, are still getting massive bonuses. I must have missed something somewhere, as I can't quite understand how this works. I'm sure they know what they're doing. It's just me, I'm too dim to understand. I'm going to write to Sir Bonar to see if he can explain this mystery. An immensely educated and eloquent man like him must be able to shed some light on it.

Here he is launching his programme in Sweden.

OH WHAT A CIRCUS

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MY BONNET LIES OVER THE OCEAN

In a couple of months I am going to New Mexico for a hat fitting. This might seem a little extravagant, but you don't know my milliner, Madame Chapeau, an extraordinary woman. She is of Comanche stock, and quite indestructible. After many years ekeing out a bohemian and somewhat undocumented existence in Paris, she returned to her ancestral homelands in Taos, where she has diversified into floral arrangements for the local native American owned casino. She speaks French with the most delightful western twang and smokes cheroots incessantly, whence her tribal name, Smokin' Squaw McGraw.

Smokin' Squaw looking suitably indestructible with one of her creations
(she's the one on the right). Photo by Jaap Vanderplas

Taos is the most godawful place to get to. The nearest airport is Albuquerque, which you can only get to from Denver or Los Angeles. So I thought what the hell, I know people in Beverly Hills. Little George Clooney is always asking me to come over and teach him macramé. After factoring in a stopover in Hollywood (oh! the glamour!), I shall fly from LA to Albuquerque, then continue on the famous Atchison Topeka and Santa Fe railroad. As can be seen from this clip, a new bonnet is de rigueur in Sante Fe.

Madame Chapeau-McGraw and I knew each other in Paris many years back, where she made the extravagant headdresses for the tableaux at the Folies. I remember one magnificent headdress she made for me made entirely out of bananas. I can't quite remember what the dance was, but I know it was banned after the first performance. I am told I cannot take fresh fruit into California, so if I have to transit via LAX on the way home, I'll eat my hat.