my young lady is always right

8/4/2019 My Young Lady is Always Right

1/9

A Strip tease at Heathrow

It was 77 degrees at sunset when we spotted BDLs flagship moored by the Strip.

The temperature had actually been touching 80 on one of the last days of summer when we arrived

an hour earlier at that tastelessly decedent monument, Heathrow.

But the temperature had fallen rapidly as things became distinctly icy in the car. We spun like an

airplane round A roads, B roads, M-ways and pass-me-by ways in this ever-decreasing circle that I

hoped would lead us to our Holiday Inn foyer.

She kept saying I was going the wrong way and of course shes always right.

Heathrow really is a hell on land and in the air. It scars Middlesex with a tattoo of runways.

Every few seconds a jet comes to a clammy halt on the tarmac - or another leaps gracefully into the

air. Which ever it is though, that noise is a constant unholy thunder and the sky is a trail of gasses.

We over-shot the hotel and hit the airport where we were greeted by a giant spider climbing over the

lip of a roadside hoarding to advertise a web-site and there is a scale model of Concorde on a road

island, with the legend the worlds most popular'.

I bet it isnt.

And all the drivers round here, from Hounslow to Windsor, are sky-pilots.

Its pandemonium and the only way to negotiate the M4, the A4, the M25 and the Bath Road is with

your foot down and your eyes wide shut.

And that was how I found it after an hour of ever-decreasing circles. It was there, just where my

young lady had kept insisting it was, on Sipson Way, West Drayton - BDLs 43 million Holiday Inn.

It had all the pride and confidence of a passenger liner waiting for its guests to be piped aboard.

The Holiday Inn is an amazing three sectioned building, with elegantly covered gangways in-

between, designed to make full use of a piece of land that is 20 times as long as it is wide. It looks

almost articulated like that other great vision of holiday and business innovation the Titanic.

But its obvious that this flagship venture is not destined to sink.


2/9

BDLs crew have worked hard to earn the Holiday Inn branding. They still take turns at the helm

and happily break the ice with guests as they arrive at the hotel.

The hotel is sheik like Sheik Your Money. Somehow it makes you think of oil-rich countries and

sleek limousines. Its windows are tinted black so that the rest of the world cant see in and the

double-glazing is so thick that it must be bullet-proof. There isnt a sound from outside.

Reception is warm but the bar is an inviting cauldron of light. I decided to calm my frazzled

driving nerves and test the barman all at once. I ordered an array of cocktails careful, this can be

an expensive business, one chap who was staying ran up a cocktail bill of 250 in two days.

I stumped the barman for a second or two when I asked him for a Silk Stocking then he went on

and mixed it anyway and convinced me he was right. He might be no Tom Cruise, but hes a cool

guy.

After just 35 my young lady decided it was time to go to our room and clear the decks for dinner.

As we headed for the third floor and room 2016 of this three hundred bed hotel the robotic

Millennium brushed chrome of the lift console spoke to us in hushed and feminine tones: You are

now entering the third floor.

The corridors are suffering from newness and seem endlessly repetitive, door after door after door,

the only identifying marks the numbers.

But the rooms are something else. Carefully furnished to be warm and inviting.

We watched the world hare along the Strip and those silver bullets filled with human cargo fill the

air. But as we watched from behind the security of our tinted windows that acted like two-way

mirrors the only sound we could hear was the gentle hum of the air-conditioning.

The bed was big enough to land a helicopter on.

The baths a little small, about the size of a Victorian hipbath and you can get the shower so hot it

could peel your skin off. But there are nice touches, like the bathroom scales that prove your arent

anorexic when you look in the mirror, you really are seeing a fat person.

And Ewan and crew havent missed a trick here too. Theyll sell you the complimentary bathrobe if

you want it saves you nicking it I suppose.

The mini-bar is well stocked and expensive.

And so it was time for tea.

The restaurant is designed as esthetically as an S and as such is as pleasing as the lobster thermador

we were served.

Group chef Denis, with a girth and a smile larger than anyones appetite, made it his business to

check personally on our progress through the labyrinths of this most palatable seafood.

He balked a bit when I asked for a red wine to wash down the meat Id smothered a little too

thoroughly in a garlic dressing but took the opportunity to explain his criteria for picking the

groups wine list. He definitely knows his nose.


3/9

The Heathrow Holiday Inn is ideal for businessmen. But its also ideal for a family that might be put

off by central London prices but want to take in a show. Theres a baby sitting service and the city is

less than half an hour away by tube.

Its also perfect for a bit of sightseeing too with Windsor and Eton a ten minute drive off or take a

trip to Pinewood Studios or even go for a pint in the perfectly quaintly formed English village of

Denham, the retreat of the stars in Pinewoods heyday.

Sir John Mills lived there and could be seen pottering around his garden. My young lady swore she

saw Ulrika Johnson and Terry Wogan enjoying a quite drink at the local. and who am I to argue,

after all shes always right.

Thats the business in Dusseldorf

Herbie Shultze is as impressive as a burgher a beef burger.

He lives in Hilden, one of the neat little suburbs on the hilly outskirts of Dusseldorf.

No, Herbie is not a caricature and he isnt employed by the Deutsche tourist board but he does wear

lederhosen, a belly as big as the frontage of an Altstadt delicatessen, a nose like a burst beirwurst and a faceas red as the average Brits overdraft.

He also has a chauffeur-driven black Mercedes. Its chauffeur-driven because of all the Altbeir heconsumes most of the day every day and he has no intention of facing jail anda heavy fine.

Herbie is actually the eccentric but successful face of this the capital city of the North Rhein-Westphalia

region.

He sells space on the advertising hoardings that march along the autobahns and he is so adept at it that life

seems to be one long loud conversation punctuated by beer and laughter.

The business districts and the banking areas near Ko are his happy hunting grounds. The millennium

chrome and glass buildings there scrape the sky with their sense of fiscal importance.

But I suspect that his lederhosen and laughter are as much a uniform as the suits and ties of colleagues and

associates.

You see, beneath the party atmosphere of oompah and giant beer glasses, bombast and drinking songs,

Germany is a very serious business indeed.


4/9

And while it is good advice to get away without mentioning the war - it is obvious everywhere you look

that this country is one regimented European institution.

Everybody sounds like they are giving you orders from innkeepers to shopkeepers. Even the road signs

bark at you walk dont walk cross now dont cross now. And woe-betide you if you ignore them the looks you will get from the good people of this ectomporphic nation would wither an oak tree. And you

run the risk of an on-the-spot fine.

But fines are a way of life in this part of the world take a trip on the Rheinbahn, but dont forget to get a

ticket from the orange sidewalk machines and dont forget to have it stamped by the orange machine on

board or itll cost you DM60!

Dusseldorf goes by with a clinically-clean attitude of fastidious efficiency, police whiz by in sunglasses andimmaculate cars, delivery vehicles are vanquished to the rear of buildings and the streets are kept spotless.

This all-pervading mixture of business and pleasure is almost schizophrenic. Perhaps thats because the city

actually does have a split personality split by the Rhein.

On the other side of the river is the old town, the Altstadt.

But even here you can see the regimentation theyve put history in its right order. A chronology of theirliving breathing past. Some of the buildings are medieval and yet they are immaculate and restored. You

could be forgiven for believing its a film set for a new Teutonic Tales.

Dusseldorf grew out of a fishing village, its position chosen because of the conjoining of the Rhine and

River Dussel.

At least they are right about one thing, there were no cars in medieval times. And guess what! There arent

now either. Theyve pedstrianised it.

But despite the fact you move through its history as if you were moving through time warps, it is abeautiful place to be.

Order and beer seem to be the absolute way of life here and one of the main benefits is that you canorder beer all day and all night. There are 260 bars in less than a square mile and every one of them is

umpah-ing and laughing and talking at the top of its voice.

By early evening the city is settling down and its worth taking a stroll down the beautiful tree-lined Rhine

promenade. The traffic is taken into an underground tunnel here and there is almost peace.

History is everywhere, the leaning tower of St Lambert and the Schlossturm. Now the streets are narrow

and lead into ancient squares. Make a visit to the old town hall, so quaintly called the Rathaus.

You can pick up the tree-lined Ko and walk along the moat with its myriad of old bridges until a time warp

allows you into the late Victorian era which has been wonderfully but too cleanly restored since that

unmentionable event in the 40s. The art nouveau Kaufhof departmental store is still one of the proudest

buildings in the area.

And the final time warp brings you back to the present with a jolt. If you keep walking you will eventuallybe confronted by the Schauspielhaus. This is the showpiece of the citys culture and they proudly describe

it as sensual. Id describe it as knew.

It was time for me to return to the Marktplatz by the Rathaus where Id arranged to meet Herbie in Zum

Uerige, Dusseldorf's most famous Brauhaus. Its a labyrinth of rooms and barrels roll across from the

brewery to the serving hatches.


5/9

Herbie was there of course, punctually, as promised and was deep in conversation with the whole bar room

we bought each other farewell drinks for a couple of hours and I realised why despite everything, I like

this city.

It makes me laugh.

Deep in the heart of aristocracy

The Midland Crowne Plaza sits uncomfortably in the left ventricle of the heart of Manchester.

As you approach it from the outskirts of this great pretender to the crown of Britain's second city,

Manchester seems to have more chance of being deemed the clown prince.

But the Midland remains amongst its aristocracy ... and it still has a finger on this city's fading pulse.

Manchester has become a city of schemes and suffers from pockets of kitsch architecture everywhere

and what appears to be a determined effort to rid itself of its darkly opulent and rainy history.

Piccadilly, once the hub of this thriving commercial city, is as grey and depressed as the Lowry-like

figures that rush through it, heads bowed and dreary clothes, dodging the modern-day trams.

Most people talk as if they have a stolen hubcap in their mouths instead of a palate.

Manchester is a city of middle-aged memories.

Even the Midland Crowne Plaza, on the face of it, seems to have suffered from the Mancunians'

lemming leap in to the future.

But it still has the immediate charm of its history ... of Rolls Royce and of opulence and of service.

I was brought up three miles from it and remember the Midland as an intensely private document, a

Who's Who of Manchester's visitors for almost 100 years.

The Midland was the place to be seen. And almost everybody who is - or was - anybody has taken

pride in being there ... Mr Rolls struck his exclusive motoring deal with Mr Royce there, it plays host

to Royalty - Princess Anne was a regular. Meatloaf and Bruce Springsteen have stayed there.

And of course Mike Tyson set up his disruptive camp in its hallowed portals for his world title bash

with Julius Francis.

Bob Dylan a few years ago reportedly stormed out because the hotel wouldn't kick Michael

Barrymore out of the Presidential Suite, Harold Robbins held a bubbly reception their for Where

Love has Gone.

Nicholas Monserrat spent a weekend there and introduced me to the delicate flavour of escargot in

1975.

Back then, in the 70s, the hotel had the darkness and the foreboding of the mills that surrounded the


6/9

city in places like Farnworth and Bolton, Rochdale and Oldham.

It had the elegance of a well-to-do mill-owner, the warmth of a roaring Edwardian fireplace and the

unobtrusive efficiency and quiet bustle of Upstairs Downstairs.

Today it has a kind of magnolia emulsion of elegance.

But that is where its lip-service to the changing face of an historic city ends.

As you step into the vast and elegant foyer, forget the magnolia, you have stepped back in time.

When we arrived we were met by the head concierge who whisked our car away after arranging for

our bags to be taken to our room. A porter even took the trouble to hang our clothes in the

wardrobe.

You see, in a place like the Midland it's a forgone conclusion that all the big things are taken care of -

and that leaves time for the little things to mean such a lot.

Little things like the fresh fruit in the room, the Internet connection on the TV, the welcome message

on the screen and the lavender smell of the sheets.

Our windows opened out on to Central Library and Stevenson Square where the city's fabulous town

hall stands.

If you could block out the traffic noise and the march of the soccer hoods then one could easily be

transported back to an age of ultimate dignity.

The room with its neat mahogany desk, the occasional table and plush sofa was, at 160 a night

something to be savored ... but then, so was the rest of the hotel.

There is just too much history calling across the decades and down the marbled halls.

We took an impromptu tour of the Midland and it began to reveal its real secrets. Some of the

furniture in those corridors is worth more than an average car.

We avoided the lift and took the back stairs to the foyer. They might have been the back stairs, but

they would have put Gone With The Wind to shame. The marbled walls shone and the stairs were as

wide as Queen Victoria.

We took coffee on the mezzanine and watched the glamorous world of upper-crust hotels go by to the

tunes of the bow-tied cocktail piano player.

The atmosphere was so relaxing that instead of taking the sight-seeing tour of the Trafford Centre or

Maine Road, we stayed there and worked our way through a menu of exotic teas while the ivories

tinkled such things as Strangers in the

Night .

As the evening sky grew dark, the "living flame" cauldrons all around the hotel were lit giving it a

medieval air ... and somehow that fortress atmosphere gave a clue to the success of this place.

Despite its capitulation to magnolia, it is truly an Englishman's castle of style and tradition.

In the Nico Central restaurant we dined on squid. I never liked it before but then I never liked

escargot until I ate it at the Midland.

Then we retired to the French Room for cocktails. The harpist gave a feeling of style you don't very


7/9

often find outside a stately home today and the baroque decor and mirrors made you feel like

sending some cake out to the poor.

Even the cocktails were classy with names like silk stockings - and I hadn't tasted a better whiskey

sour since Kentucky.

And then there is the business centre which you get to through the Octagon Lounge, It offers fax

services, copytyping and printing. Translation facilities and audio visual equipment can be arranged.

There is of course a video conferencing technology. Throughout the hotel are lavish conference and

meeting rooms. Many of the rooms have been used by TV companies for classic dramas such as

Brideshead Revisited and The Grand.

There is the Alexandra Suite, the Stanley Suite, the Rolls and Royce suite, the Lancaster Suite, Derby

and Chester suites - the list seems to be endless.

It's a pity though that the roof garden can no longer be used. It was once the setting for tea parties

and business meetings high above the bustling streets. In middle of the century it was deemed to be

unsafe for such activities.

But from there you can see the changing face of Manchester. Behind you is Castlefields and nearby is

the city's renowned gay village, to the right is the well-known Chinatown and the Palace Theatre.

And a ten minute drive at Salford

Docks the new Lowry Centre, which while it has little to do with Lowry, contains new theatres and

other attractions

And there you have it, the story of a century of success and a hint at the reasons behind it.

The Midland has what Manchester is losing.

It has dignity

Why drowning can be such fun

Well, Ive just had the most fun its possible to have whilst drowning.

White water rafting is for crazy people and, you know what, it should be compulsory for everybody to

go crazy at least once in their lives.

When I first arrived at the Camp du Verdon near the ancient town of Castellane in Provence I was

convinced I must be mad anyway Butlins in any language is Butlins. Im nervous about places that

openly brag about karaoke evenings, theme nights and table tennis.

So, I kept reminding myself that Cannes is actually only just around the corner, in a country mile sort of a

way

At least the camp, banished to the outskirts of Castellane like a sunny hyper-market, looks pretty with its 34

acres of wooded flatlands. And it has two heated swimming pools. And a fishing pond and a boating

lake and mini golf course and boules.

Very Riviera.


8/9

And when I moved in to my en-suite mobile home I was quite impressed. In fact, for a caravan, it was

quite luxurious..

And so is the sun terrace overlooking the fishing pond where I went for my first glass of champagne of theafternoon.

By mid-evening and two bottle of champagne I felt adventurous enough to get up and give a rousing

chorus of Agadoo doo doo with my fellow sailors whod adopted an almost gallows attitude to the rigors of

the next morning..

I have to say I dont like camping, thats something Id rather leave to the guys in the gay bars of Paris or

Marseille. But, of its type, camp du verdon is probably one of the better ones set, as it is, along the banks ofthe Verdon River. 343

And it was on the Verdon River that my mad adventure began

With hangovers and a sense of trepidation we set off for the Aboard Centre which has arranged white water

rafting trips all over the world for a decade.

There were a couple of journalists on a freebie and two florid middle-aged Floridans who claimed to bewhitewater rafting

their way around the world ... they began three months ago, they said, on the Broad French River in NorthCarolina, had skimmed through Porto Rico, shot through the rapids of Wales and Scotland and were now

plunging their way through Europe. Well, that's Americans for you.

After a brief briefing that basically consisted of hang on no matter what, we pushed off in to the cool

Vardon in a dinghy that groaned and undulated more than the river itself.

As we sailed down the rapids backwards, sideways, upside down, in the boat, out the boat, my attention

was drawn to an eagle that flew as silent as plane with a rabbit in its claws.

But it was that split seconds lack of concentration that nearly drowned me the dinghy skimmed round a

rock, leaped to the left and dumped me into the river to the right

Well, as Verdon took me, all I knew was that it didnt matter any longer whether I could swim or not, I was

rolling and tumbling beneath the waves, devoured by the current that miraculously slid me safely through the

rocks.

And as the river turned me and began to choke me with my own hair, I remembered what the groups captain

Aznar said - lay your head on the pillows of the water and refuse to struggle.

My body skimmed across a rock and I shot into a syphonic alley as if I was an eel. The shale turned into smoke as

I shimmied through it.

I finally broke the surface like a maniac, thrashing my arms around and coughing and splashing and for that split

second I was back amongst the living I couldnt tell if the looks on the faces of my companions were of horror orhysterical laughter.

But then I was gone again beneath the surface.

I was jettisoned over a waterfall and crashed feet-first in to the next natural lock of white water. I grabbed a slice

of breath before the surface closed over me as tightly as the whale closed over Jonah.


9/9

Now, there is a natural corkscrew in a fast-flowing river and that corkscrew with the conspiring of the rocks can

knock you inside out, crack your skull and disembowel you all at once. But Id been taught well and allowed

myself to glide as if I was riding the edge of the air.

And I survived. They found me perched on a rock the dinghy shuddered and jerked as my colleagues helpedme back in. And yep, theyd been laughing all along while it had been a journey of discovery and trauma for

me, to them it had been a big joke that actually lasted less than 30 seconds.

But it was like a right of passage I knew how Davy Crockett must have felt in all those 1950s B movies.

Fact file

.A week at the Camp du Verdon near Castellane costs around 500 a week based on six sharing and a

days excursion on the Verdon with Aboard, including rafting and all equipment is approximately 50

(check before hand for details of the dam releases). E-mail [email protected]

my young lady is always right

Documents