April in Paris in the early Seventies. It’s our first time in the city. Its magic makes us feel heady. We’re strolling hand-in-hand down Les Champs-Élysées on a beautiful sunny morning. She is wearing a pair of skimpy hot-pants and a halter-neck, the nipples of her small breasts visible through the flimsy material. Slim and elegant, she looks like a fashion model straight from Carnaby Street in London. As we pass the tables outside the first café, the wolf-whistling begins. It continues all the way down the boulevard, coming from café after café, and even from across the street. She looks at me and smiles. Two rows of small, pearly white teeth. She’s not daunted by the whistling. Just the opposite. The whistles are endorsements. Compliments. Frenchmen are so expressive. It’s what they do, isn’t it?
This wee memoir was prompted by the news that men in France will soon be liable for on-the-spot fines if they are caught wolf-whistling at women.
April in Paris in the early Seventies. It’s our first time in the city. Its magic makes us feel heady. We’re strolling hand-in-hand down Les Champs-Élysées on a beautiful sunny morning. She is wearing a pair of skimpy hot-pants and a halter-neck, the nipples of her small breasts visible through the flimsy material. Slim and elegant, she looks like a fashion model straight from Carnaby Street in London. As we pass the tables outside the first café, the wolf-whistling begins. It continues all the way down the boulevard, coming from café after café, and even from across the street. She looks at me and smiles. Two rows of small, pearly white teeth. She’s not daunted by the whistling. Just the opposite. The whistles are endorsements. Compliments. Frenchmen are so expressive. It’s what they do, isn’t it?
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Back at the turn of the century (I just love that phrase!), Alison and I spent some time in Singapore. In fact, we spent twelve whole days there, staying at the world-famous Raffles Hotel. Since virtually all of Raffles’ guests used the hotel as a stopover for only one or two nights, we were pretty unique. Known by the staff as The Twelve-Dayers, we were treated like royalty. And that’s a photo of Princess Alison outside the front of the hotel.
During those twelve days in Singapore, we saw and did many wonderful things. But my abiding memory of our visit is of Mr Leslie Danker. At that time, Mr Danker was the Guest Relations Manager of Raffles. A Singaporean of Indian descent, who had worked at the hotel from an early age, he was the most pleasant, courteous and gentle man you would ever want to meet, someone you would want to call your friend. He gave us a guided tour of Raffles, treated us to high tea, regaled us with tales of the hotel’s history, introduced us to the sniffy American General Manager, and generally looked after us throughout our stay. On the morning of our departure, he even mustered as many staff as he could find to come out front and wave to The Twelve-Dayers as our taxi drove off. And not long after our return to Edinburgh, he sent us a bottle of wine all the way from Singapore! Mr Danker still works at Raffles, by the way. Approaching 80, with no sign of him retiring, he has quite correctly been appointed as the official historian of Raffles. But back when he was Guest Relations Manager here he is greeting some other “special” guests. |
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