Now, where was I? Oh yes, so...with Ma Rhino in town this weekend, I decided to do something a little more cultural than 14 vodka and tonics at the Perle followed by gay karaoke and head OUTSIDE PARIS (my italics, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath) to visit Giverny, the village where the daddy of all Impressionists Claude Monet spent much of his life. Have you been? If not, here's a tip. DON'T GO IF IT'S POURING WITH RAIN. While it's not that bad travelling for the best part of an hour on a packed train then a packed coach to blunder around an artist's garden in a cagoule, I'm sure the whole thing is MUCH more enjoyable with a little sunshine. That said, the gardens were delightful, even through my misted, rain-streaked specs. But it was the house I liked best. I was particularly taken by Monet's cooker (or "stove") which was this huge Aga-like contraption. You could just imagine him getting up in the morning and standing there making some slightly blurred scrambled turkey eggs and Aga toast (made with that contraption shaped like a wire tennis racket aka "the best toast in the world"). With a breakfast like that inside you, who could fail to be creative?? I'm not sure what that tap is for on the right-hand side though. And Monet's bed looked a bit lumpy, but I'm sure these days that Ikea deliver, even to Giverny. I may move there, just for that cooker. The other highlight of the weekend was the Caribbean carnival at Bastille. Terrific fun, an explosion of music, dancing and colour. Just like Pride really, only with more women and better costumes and dancing. Miaow.
