"How are you today, Ma'am?"
Ma'am? Me Mam isn't here, she's back in Newcastle with me
Back from the sunny Californian coast, Europe seems bleak and gray
in comparison. What is it with holidays? Brief escapes, high
emotions, memories burned in the brain and burned skin in
funny lines on your back... Everything disappears the moment you
set foot on home ground. Sun replaced with rain, palm trees with
street lights and bubbly tanned Los Angels for ashen-faced,
philosophical French people.
Paris, London, LA, Chicago. These last few days have flown by;
time zones and faces all blurring into one. I feel giddy and just a
little hungover. How did sailors do it, in the olden days I
mean? Is it possible to have a girl in every port? Lesbians seem so
intrinsically wired to mate for life; deep attachments formed in
the blink of an eye and broken just as quickly. How did our
cabin-mates on the high seas manage the stress? They clearly had no
concept of U-Hauling or the urge to merge. I might give it a try!
Could a canny mix of strong liquor and Venice Beach space-cake help
me achieve my goal? Could a foreign fling help me shake off the
brutal chains of heartbreak? Maybe a quick stay at the mile high
club - there's a nice looking air-hostess, she might serve me more
Despite a heady ménage à trois of space chocolate, Bud Light and
too much sun, I'm just not that kind of person. And though
opportunities arose in the city of angels, to don my best sea
outfit and take a dip in dangerous and strange waters, I know
better than to test the temperature of the pool.
(Except perhaps the rooftop pool of the conceptual
Standard Hotel in downtown LA where the girls are as ice-cool
as the cocktails and where, with the right European accent, you
just might get lucky... This particular pool, with its inimitable
skyline view, slow lounge-jazz and water-beds, is not to be
"Can I get anything for you Ma'am?"
I think I'll stick with gorgeous French girls calling me
Mademoiselle. Just for a little longer.