I never get sick of Paris. I mean, how could you?

Yes, we know the french are a little bit crazy. But to their defense, they like it this way. When the Italians think you're a lunatic, you're probably best to simply accept it.

I’ll give you an example.

When Uber tried to set up in France, they hired 2 senior looking manager people and told them to go forth.

The French quickly decided that they didn’t want Uber drivers ruining their country so they promptly threw the newly appointed CEO and his dimwitted sidekick in jail. As in prison. Then they sent a telegram to Uber in California to come fetch them.

I don’t even think they cared if what they did was legal. They did it. The french people cheered and kept chanting “embrasse mon cul”

Which apparently means have a nice day.

Or something like that.

Fast forward to today and Ubers are plentiful and now every Uber driver complains bitterly about the state of the taxi industry and how crazy the french government is.

Go figure.

Anyway.

I took my colleague to a wonderful little brassiere called Le Stella. If you’re in Paris, you must go there. The steak frites is most delicious. And you better not leave without having the profiteroles. Apparently there’s a law in Paris that says if you don’t eat them at the end of every meal, you can be deported.

Because I’m a long suffering Marriott person, we stayed at a smallish hotel called La Maison Champs Elysées.

I know what some are going to say…

“Why on earth did you stay there?”
“I would have stayed here, or here. Or here”

To be honest, I wouldn’t stay there again.

There’s technically nothing wrong with it. It just didn’t do it for me.

For one, reception is like Harry Potter's bedroom under the stairs. You walk into the lobby - and slap bang in the middle is an area the size of a little closet where all the front office staff are standing around in an uncomfortable huddle.

It's very strange.

I was kind of expect one of the staff members to sign language "SOS, Help Me. Get Me Out Of Here..."

Then there appears to be 2 parts to the hotel. One on the left. And one down a narrow hallway. I think they put all the people they don’t like in the wing down the back. Which is where we stayed. And while your room key might say “232” you have to press “3” on the elevator. Sometimes it's best to go with the flow…

Like you, I have spent more than my fair share of my adult life in a hotel. All I want now at my decaying age is simplicity.

The room they gave me had one of those dreadful bathtub/shower combos and the shower head was attached to a flimsy hose and every time you had a shower, the thing wouldn’t stay still and you ended up literally wedging yourself into the corner of the tub trying to get wet.

I tried to explain to reception my displeasure at the useless contraption but the person on reception pretended not to speak English and simply said “have a bath instead”.

Bloody french.

I will say the bar and main restaurant were more than adequate.

Apart from the fact that every time we sat down for a drink or something to eat, a wee mouse would scamper across the floor. The staff saw this multiple times and when we went to say something - they would interrupt, grin and simply say “zere is no charge for ze entertainment ”