On Yer Bike!!

I'm perplexed, dear reader. Try as I might, I can't understand WHY I'm so annoyed by the Paris bike rental scheme Vélib. Why does the whole thing irritate me so? There's no logical explanation. The dear Mrs. LOG suggested that it might be a reaction to a deep-seated fear that, one day, someone is going to make me get on one and I will have to do some real exercise. She may have a point. Whatever. Although I never felt this way about in-line skating (remember when THAT was fashionable?). Anyway, amazingly even without my backing, Vélib is a huge success. In less than a month, we've gone from crowds of people standing looking puzzled by the bike station just by Rhino75 Towers to a severe Vélib shortage. It's almost impossible to get your hands on one at the weekend, even if you wanted to. Which I don't. Why, it'll soon be easier to get a cab than a bike. Yet, I can't shake the feeling that the whole thing's a huge con, that we're all being taken in somehow, although I don't know in what way or even by whom. I remain convinced that it's the start of a very slippery slope. Harrumph.

Coincidence? I Don't Think So...

Have just noticed that the first five of my top weekly artists in the sidebar are Swedish. And that Bob Hund even creeps in at the bottom of the list. Hmmm.

The Vegas Experience: Left Luggage

It's official, I am every travel company's worst nightmare. The very first post ever on this blog was about me missing a flight. Not to be outdone, my latest exploits stretched Eurostar customer service to breaking point but the good news is that they came through with flying colours. First of all, I turned up late for my train - with a non-exchangeable non-refundable ticket. Now I say late, but they've let me through later than that before, although 10 minutes before departure is probably cutting it a little fine. Anyway, they very kindly agreed to exchange my ticket at no extra cost. Of course, I get a little lecture, but I do my best wounded Rhino75 look (butch but vulnerable - patent pending) and all goes smoothly. Wonderful. So I check in again, go through passport control, customs, the baggage scans etc. Then - aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhh. I'm JUST about to go through and get on the train when I realise I've left the Barbra tickets at HOME. Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrgggggghhhhh. What a palaver. But they were troopers. Assured me that (other very stupid) people did this all the time. And took me back through immigration and exchanged my ticket for the second time in an hour in order to give me enough time to go home, pick up tickets while the taxi waited downstairs, and get back to the station. If that isn't service, I don't know what is. The good thing is that it happened on the leg when I was travelling alone. I know only too well from past experience that this kind of thing sends other people's stress levels through the roof, whereas I find it perfectly normal. Pray (I'm not joking!) that we make it to Gatwick on time tomorrow. Bons baisers de Londres.