Orlando

That Orlando killer was about as ISIS as I am.

He was a young gay man who was taught by his religion and probably his parents, that being gay is a shameful thing.
So he gets married twice to women, beats them because they don't have magic vaginas that will stop him being gay, then finally attacks the very community he longs to be a part of.

If you're the parents of a gay child, love them, accept them. They are your flesh and blood.

And if your religious beliefs lead you to think it's ok to kill ANY other human being, then change your fucking religion, because no 'God' sanctions mass murder.

Cor Blimey Guv! It's All Happening!

So, the plan was to carry on catching up with my adventures in Cambodia. I posted the first part and then went off to Vietnam for some ca phe (coffee with condensed milk) and pho bo (beef noodle soup). I know it seems a bit pretentious not just saying the bits in brackets but I love both of these things so much I don't want to trivialise them, so I use the correct Vietnamese words too. But then I don't want to be a prat so I translated them. 

Anyway back in the world. While I was away I got an email telling me that if I really, really, really wanted to make my solo Edinburgh Fringe debut, I had until next Wednesday (16/03) to fill in my registration form and hand over the 'discount' price of £300 for the pleasure.

As hopped up on caffeine and bovine bliss as I was, my hotel in Saigon was not the place to be carrying out such an endeavour. So I saw the sights, had a fabulous mani/pedi that still looks new almost a week later, and did what people do in that fantastic city.

Friday (yesterday) was my to do day. I was too knackered when I got home Thursday night to do much of anything, except load the washer (God I love having a washing machine when I'm away!). 

I was up bright and early, and did everything I could possibly do to distract myself from just sitting down and filling out this bloody form. All my fears about performing at the Fringe kept bubbling up like the worst kind of indigestion, and after all I had errands to run. 

Finally I ran out of distractions, so I switched the laptop on - this was no job for the iPhone no matter how advanced it was - and clicked on the link in the email.

It opened up the page and at first - for about a whole 30 seconds - it seemed simple. Then I began to do things other than type my name. The lovely man who is enabling this show to happen is currently in Adelaide where he's producing other shows, but I had no idea who else to contact when the fifth, or sixth, or was it the seventh hurdle brought me to a complete stop. 

He was actually in a show so couldn't do much to help, I posted a plea on Facebook and the only reply I got was from my good mate Martin Mor who had got himself in a bind with it all the other day. Nothing else to do, I clicked on the 'contact us' part of the page and within seconds an amazing person called Alix at the Fringe Office had remotely accessed my details, asked me for the info that I wasn't able to enter, and in the time it took me to have a wee, s/he had done it all for me! 

All that was left was to click on the 'pay us the money' page, and once that was done and my payment went through. I was spent. It'd taken me the best part of four hours to fill in this sodding form and my brain - still full of soup, coffee and sunshine - was burnt out. So much so, that I fell asleep about 9.30 last night and woke up about an hour ago, at 5pm! 

Then I noticed another email telling me to check and accept the proof, so I've just completed that and sent it off. All done.

Just time to write the show now!

Here's the first of many plugs folks

JoJo Smith

I Was Mick Jones' Bank Clerk

Upstairs at Cabaret Voltaire

18.45pm

15-28 August (inc)

Whasssss 'Appenin? Part One

Well then, it's been almost three weeks since I blogged. That has gone fast.

I've been getting about. I've been gigging! Get me!

First off I went to Cambodia for a week of gigging and ligging. It all began beautifully with an easy flight from Chiang Mai to Phnom Penh via Bangkok. It appears you can't even go to the loo without going via Bangkok over here. 

Anyway the flight was only 30 minutes delayed which is good going for Air Asia, and I was met by the magnificent Mr Dee, tuk tuk driver extraordinaire, and Daniel-Ryan Spaulding my co-star for the week. 

Luckily we weren't gigging that night so once we'd checked in at our fabulous hotel, the House Boutique Hotel, we had time to freshen up, and have a leisurely dinner with one of our hosts and bookers, the lovely Dan Riley. 

 Fabulous framed album sleeve

He took us off in Mr Dee's mean machine for a Cambodian feast, and it truly was. Of course I've forgotten the names of all the dishes but there wasn't a damn thing that wasn't amazing. We were joined for the meal by my old comedy chum Tony Morewood who is living a life of leisure in Phnom Penh these days, as well as dipping his toe back into the murky waters of stand-up.

It was a night of many beers for the lads, water for me, memories and reminiscences, as well as finding out the lay of the land from both Dan and Tony. We also got to meet our MC/tour manager for the week, Sam Thomas, a young American comedian with a great future ahead of him I believe.

The day's events caught up with me and I bailed around midnight, falling into my very comfy bed.

Early up the next morning as we had a four (plus) hour bus ride to Sihanoukville for the first show. Our vehicle - provided by another of the tour's sponsors Giant Ibis - was pretty cool and as comfy as any vehicle can be that you're sat in for a prolonged period of time. Of course every time I thought of the name I also thought of the Ibis hotel chain, but I can assure you these buses were way better.

We arrived at the beachside town of Sihanoukville around 3.30 and found the gig. This was made easier by Sam having been there before. There was a huge big poster outside but inside nobody seemed to be expecting us. Eventually we found someone who knew we were coming and they guided us towards the hotel. The hotel weren't expecting us either, I was sensing a theme developing. It says something about the experience when I say I can't recall the name of the hotel, I've stayed in worse for sure but it was the least lovely of the tour.

We went over to the gig early and met yet another "cook" *. Considering how many organisers this gig had it was possibly in my top 10 of disorganised gigs ever.

We found one guy who ironically was completely new to it all, and thus the most amenable. We set up a gig, there was even an audience and I got my first shock. Not only is smoking almost compulsory in Cambodia, and at £1 a pack I can see why, it's positively encouraged indoors! 

This was my first time ever doing a gig in a smoky room as a non-smoker, and now I totally get why my non-smoking friends used to complain back in the day. I had to shower when I got back to the hotel, the smell on my clothes and hair was just vile.

The gig, while certainly not vile, could've been better from all sides to be honest. The room was unsuitable, the audience mostly dragged in not knowing what to expect - and given that it seems to be perfectly ok to smoke dope openly - not caring much either. I was a bit freaked out by the whole experience but still managed to get some laughs thanks to the unstoned people in the room.

After breakfast the next morning I was happy to say goodbye to Sihanoukville. Perhaps under different circumstances it's a pleasurable place to visit, but it's not on my list of places to return to.


* As in too many of them spoil the frikken gig

A Traveller's Life For Me

So here I am in Thailand. I got here just under two weeks ago and already I feel myself letting go.

Of course a physical distance from life in the UK makes it easier to not be so caught up in the pointless rubbish I often allow to drag me down. There's something more though, it's being in a Buddhist country I believe. Everywhere I walk I see reminders of the Buddha's teachings, From the little offerings placed at the doors of all the businesses on the road where I'm staying, to the temples - which here in Chiang Mai "the temple capital" of Thailand are every hundred yards or so - gleaming and glorious in the sunshine.

Yesterday I ventured out to Doi Suthep to visit the Wat Phra That temple. It's a popular tourist attraction but despite the crowds I was able to get up close and personal with what I needed. I got blessed by one of the monks, dousing my head with holy water (so that's where the Catholics got it from!), and handing a piece of white string to a female assistant to tie it to my wrist. Here in Thailand they practice Theravada Buddhism and one of the rules is that no monk must have any physical contact with a female. Even if you buy something, you put the money down on the counter and then they pick it up.

When I was in Dharamsala doing the English conversation classes with the Mahana monks a few years back I was shocked with the first one shook my hand. I asked him why he was allowed to touch me when the ones in Thailand weren't. He told me that HH The Dalai Lama has said that the no touching rule serves no purpose (I'm paraphrasing here). His belief was that if you had impure thoughts, then not touching a woman wouldn't stop them, and likewise if your mind was pure shaking hands with a woman won't ignite the flames of passion Thorn Birds-stylee.

I wandered around the complex marvelling at the beauty of it all, feeling a lightness in my chest that I'm rarely aware of. By rights I should be feeling this chilled all the time, because there's a tradition here that the day you were born dictates your 'Buddha Nature'. As a Tuesday's child, mine is the Reclining Buddha - one of the reasons I love visiting the massive one at Wat Pho I guess - and you've gotta be pretty chilled if you're reclining by nature, surely!

There was a little stall selling amulets and I bought the tiniest little one to remind me of today and the feelings I'm experiencing. The monk manning the stall blessed that too before handing a woman another bit of white string to tie to my wrist. I dunno what being given two symbolises, either I'm very blessed or I need all the blessings I can get!

Something else I've noticed here in Chiang Mai is the prevalence of Ganesha in the most unexpected places. Outside the flashy shopping mall near my apartment is a shrine to him, and here at the temple I saw this (left). If anyone can tell me the reason for the sudden popularity of a Hindu diety in a Buddhist temple I'd really appreciate it.

I love seeing him here though, it's like the tattoos on my back with Ganesha in the middle protecting this body and Buddha on my right shoulder come to life.

While I'm on that subject, in Bangkok last week I saw huge billboards everywhere - from the arrivals hall at Suvarnabhumi Airport to Chatuchak market telling people to respect the Buddha image. Instructing us not to buy artwork or statues of the Buddha's head, and not to have Buddha tattoos as they are considered disrespectful. I can't tell you how much this has distressed me. I have a huge image of the Buddha on my back/shoulder and I can assure you it's one of the most respectful things about me. It's a copy of an ancient Tibetan Thanka, and I feel it's not just on my skin but inside of me, protecting me from my baser instincts. It's certainly not a 'fashion' thing or a tourist reminder. The idea that any Thai person seeing this would be offended upsets me, and I guess there's nowt I can do about that. I'm more careful about people seeing it this time round, even when I'm sunbathing! Up here in Chiang Mai I've yet to see one of those billboards, maybe it's more relaxed up here.

We also stopped off at a 'traditional' Hmong market that was meant to be selling traditional crafts. The Hmong are an ethnic group from the mountainous regions of China, Laos, Vietnam and Thailand, but I got the feeling this market was more about raising funds. Most of the goods on sale were the kind of factory produced tat on sale everywhere, with one or two exceptions who were selling things like home made honey which looked delicious but was in a jar so big that to finish it would surely have induced type-2 diabetes. Just beyond the market though was a flower garden that blew my mind with its beauty. Here's just a few images.

David Bowie

What dreadful news to wake up to. The last few weeks have seen an epidemic of much loved celebrities and musical heroes pass on, but I never in my wildest nightmares expected this one to happen.

Seeing what looked like a flippant post on Twitter, I quickly went to the BBC News app on my phone and there is was for real. 

David Bowie. Dead.

Given my rock and roll history, I've had an anecdote to post on social media for most of the recent passings. My Bowie stories deserve more than 140 characters, so here I am blogging for the first time in forever.

As you can see from the bit of paper above, the first one came in 1979. The venue was The Nashville, a music pub in West Kensington. It's now called the Three Kings I believe. It was one of my favourite places to see bands and I've so many fond memories of seeing people like The Cure, The Specials, Madness, even Joe Jackson there. My fondest memory of all was of this particular night.

It was a Friday and the second day of The Human League's two night stint at the club. This was them in their original form. Four fellas, some dodgy trousers and a slide show. I absolutely loved them back then and with my pal Heather we'd got to know the band fairly well, in a purely "Ligger" sense of the word.

As we were leaving the show on the Thursday night, Bob Last - their manager and boss of Fast Records - said to me to be sure to come back on the Friday night and that he'd leave our names on the door. He was grinning when he said it, but I didn't pay much heed. I was 18 and had no skills at all when it came to interpreting human behaviour.

Friday night, me and Heather turn up, watch the show - which was brilliant - and then went to go backstage to say thanks. There was extra security at the door, but Bob spotted us and waved us through. When we got into the grotty dressing room, there he was with an aura that lit up the shitty brown carpet and grotty nicotine-stained walls, David Bowie. 

At that point in time I would have to say I "liked" David Bowie, rather than loved him. In 1972 when he came to play at Preston Guildhall, I chose to spend my money on a Bay City Rollers ticket for the week after, but I liked his tunes, and of course his image which was always exceptional.

He was with his assistant Coco, though she was standing off to one side. DB was in the centre of a group of people who were hanging on his every word. He was discussing 'snuff films' with the band and talking of his time in Berlin. Heather was star-struck to the point of speechlessness, she really was a Bowie fan, and so once there was a lull in the conversation I launched into my spiel.

"Hi David, I'm Gaye Abandon and this is Ann R Key and we have a fanzine called The Ligger, and we'd love it if you would do an interview with us". He fixed his gaze on mine and said "I don't really do interviews at the moment, but if you give your address to Coco, I'll send you my thoughts on tonight". 

Now we didn't really use 'guest' reviewers in The Ligger, but fuck me what a coup! He asked about the fanzine and what kind of music we liked, and offered us a Marlboro Red. I didn't smoke at the time but a few years later when I started those were my fags of choice for no other reason.

As you can see from the scrap of paper, I was uncool enough to ask for his autograph and somehow it's survived 37 years and endless moves. I gave my address to Coco, but that review never arrived. I didn't hold it against him.

After that meeting I really began to explore his back catalogue. There were certain periods I loved more than others, but if I had to pick my all time favourite album it would be Young Americans. I've always been a bit of a soul girl, and this one - introduced to me by Kevin Rowland when I was working for Dexys Midnight Runners - I really got into. 

To this day it's the one I play most, so when he released the soulful Let's Dance I was bang into that too. Not to mention how fabulous he looked in those videos. So when, in 1983 it was announced he was going to be playing at Milton Keynes Bowl, myself and my flatmates got tickets and went. 

Now one of my flatmates at the time seemed to have access to all kinds of pharmaceuticals and our drug of choice that day was acid. I can still feel the warmth I felt laying on the grass in the Bowl, the sun beaming down and me tripping off my tits listening to IceHouse (god help me) and watching cruise missiles fly overhead. 

It'd mostly worn off by the time DB came onstage but there was no comedown, we soared higher and higher as he did his wonderful thing onstage. That was the first and sadly only time I ever saw him play truly live, but what an amazing experience it was.


My final DB experience came a year later. By now I was doing PR for a small, very small Ladbroke Grove record label called Trouserwear, run by a mate. He'd made a sampler LP called Blatant, featuring lots of local talent, including yours truly. It was set up like a game where the listener got to be an A&R man. The idea was you would wear the cardboard Ray Bans and attach your 'Backstage Pass' and listen to the tracks to try to pick a winner. Thinking about it now, it was an excellent idea!

Anyway, a pal of mine was telling me how his girlfriend was rehearsing with a choreographer - David Toguri - for the new David Bowie video. There were at Pineapple Studios. I grabbed a copy of the album, dolled myself up and headed over there. The girlfriend came out and introduced me to the choreographer and I explained about the album and was there a way to get a copy to DB because he was name checked on the record. 

He took it, and went back inside the rehearsal room. I was just about to leave when the pal's gf came running after me. 'David (Toguri, not Bowie) loves your look and he wants you to be in the video!' I almost fainted.

My phone number was taken and later that day I got a call telling me to be at the Roof Gardens in Kensington two days later. I'd get paid (£20 I think I got), and I had to be there at 8am wearing what I was wearing that day. 

I was there with bells on. As with all things filmic, the day dragged on for an eternity, with an awful lot of sitting around doing nothing, but when DB came out to film his bits, time evaporated. 

Julien Temple was directing the video, and while the choreographer loved my look, he wasn't so keen, I can still hear him telling me to 'move back, move back' the fucker. I made the final edit though and if you can be arsed to watch it here's the video 

https://youtu.be/DXvAaNcXNzI

I'm in the 'concert' part of the video and wearing a white jacket.

After a 14 hour day, they finally called a wrap. DB was standing out on the stage and I seized my chance. I said hi, took a fag this time, and asked if he'd received the album. I told him I was one of The Serious Sisters who featured on it. What I'd forgotten was that in the fictionalised biog I wrote for my group, I'd claimed we'd sung backing vocals for him when we were only 12 years old or something. As I said 'Serious Sisters' he broke out into a huge grin and said 'Oh yes, my backing singers'. He pretended to be annoyed but I just said 'showbiz innit?' and he laughed. He then went on to say how much he loved the idea of the album and some of the music too.

Now obviously a gazillion people will have a gazillion stories about David Bowie and many, many words will be written about him today and in the coming weeks, months, years. This is my contribution. 

Of all the "stars" I've met over the years, he always stood out for his sense of humour, his lack of condescension, his elegance, charm and good nature. He was also very generous with his cigarettes.

What a diamond.

Indiahhhhhhh Again!

So I’ve been in Goa just over a week now. My first few days were spent staying in Anjuna so that I could hit the markets with a vengeance. Which I did. I spent so much time at the Flea Market last Wednesday that I was on chatting terms with the stallholders. Beyond a bag of peanuts I didn’t buy much, but I enjoyed trolling around the place. 

When I first visited that market in 1990 it was about the size of a football pitch and everybody just laid their goods on a blanket on the ground. Now it’s all bamboo stalls, and about the size of Hull. The quality of the goods has deteriorated sadly, back then you could get bags and throws that were hand embroidered by the woman selling them to you, now it’s all factory produced. Progress eh? 

The Indian economy fared much better when I went to the Saturday Night Market at Arpora. I came back with a cache of goodies, some of which might actually make it back to the UK with me! This market has everything, tourist tat, young designers selling original clothes and jewellery, live music, and food from around the globe. I’ll be going back next week.

In between I didn’t do too much, to be honest. The intense heat here, averaging about 33C, was disagreeing with me rather violently at first, I laid out in the sun for a couple of hours last Friday and was close to vomiting from the heat! That’s a new one for me even! Of course it didn’t help that I was sunbathing on the roof of my hotel, rather than on the beach (I couldn’t face the hawkers to be honest) so there was no sea breeze to cool me. Other than that I mainly did a lot of reading and even more sleeping.

I did find an amazing oasis in the madness of Anjuna, a fabulous organic cafe called Artjuna (www.artjuna.com). If you're anywhere close make sure to go. The good is delicious and even at the height of the day, it’s cool and shady. Also there’s a brilliant shop selling really gorgeous clothes, bags and jewellery.

On Monday I moved up the coast to Ashvem Beach. I’d booked at hotel online called the Rococo Ashvem which has just the most amazing feedback on Trip Advisor. The website looked pretty cool too, with it’s promises of being on the most exclusive beach in the area, and neighbours like Jade Jagger.

Now I’m long enough in the tooth to take those claims with a pinch of salt, so while I wasn’t expecting anything like five star luxury, nothing could have prepared me for the hell hole that awaited my arrival.

You remember when Terry Waite was a hostage and chained to that radiator? Well all I can say is if he’d been staying at the Rococo in Ashvem he would’ve topped himself. I was shown four different rooms that all made the dwellings in Slumdog Millionaire look like the Taj Mahal.

Celebration ice cream and Masala Chai at the new hotel

I was kinda stranded, unless I handed over my credit card I wasn’t gonna get access to the internet and the crappy 3G on my phone wasn’t working, so I decided to be all stiff upper lip and signed on the dotted line.

I went to check out the rest of the joint while at the same time texting an old Osho pal of mine who was staying further up the coast at a different beach to see if her place had any vacancies. She was out sightseeing, so I found their number and called. They did have a room available and were prepared to do me a deal. 

Slightly wary, I locked my luggage in the slum room, and jumped in a cab to Mandrem Beach. Not only was the hotel a billion times more fabulous (nothing could’ve been worse to be honest) but he was willing to cut me a deal and give me my own little four star beach hut for less than I’d paid at the shithole.

I paid half upfront and grabbed another cab back to the Rococco, took my case and handed over the key. The woman who’d shown me all four of the vile rooms had the audacity to look affronted when I explained I’d actually found a hotel that looked and felt like a hotel. I guess they were gearing up for a big old row about me trying to get a refund, but to be honest, they needed the money more than I did! Of course, by not even offering me the teensiest of refunds they’ve ensured I shall be correcting that obviously false Trip Advisor rating!

Yesterday, I met up with my pal Zia and her husband Steve - who it turns out are staying two huts down - and we headed up to Arambol for the afternoon/evening. There was going to be a carnival apparently, but what I saw was a bunch of people going for a walk along the beach dressed in bits of old tat. No different from any other day! We made for Oshoanic beach bar, and whiled the time away drinking mojitos, eating moms and pakora and pizza and catching up on where the last four years have gone. Fabulous

Anyway, it’s Wednesday evening now, and I've spent my first full day on the beach since I arrived. I’m somewhat acclimatised, and just finally slowing down. 

You Know Me...

I rarely seem to praise hotels these days. I think the cutbacks worldwide mean that the places chosen by promoters for us comedians to stay are going downhill fast, as the budgets contract.

People who follow me on social media (MissJoJoSmith on Twitter), will have read me kicking off about the horrors of the Ibis Budget and Britannia hotels - both in Manchester ironically - in the last few weeks. In my opinion neither are qualified to call themselves hotels.

Anyway all of that is history, because this week I was blessed by the hotel gods at long last. 

First the back story, as soon as I read that my architecture idol Frank Gehry had designed the Fondation Louis Vuitton in Paris I was planning my visit. Once it was open to the public I set to booking an awayday specifically to see it. I've made pilgrimages in the past, both in Bilbao and New York City, hell I even bought the rings he designed for Tiffany! The new one promised to be something special.

My first sight of Frank Gehry's latest masterpiece

Eurostar were having one of their 'deals' and so I got straight on and booked. Unfortunately when I was clicking on the return journey, I clicked for the following day. I didn't even realise until I picked up the boarding passes a couple of weeks later. I quickly checked if I could change my ticket, but of course I couldn't, so I looked at booking a new return. That was going to cost more than the entire return ticket. So I went hotel hunting. 

I found the Mercure at Gare du Nord - http://www.accorhotels.com/gb/hotel-8575-mercure-Paris-gare-du-nord-la-fayette-hotel/index.shtml - on a bookings website for £60, way cheaper than the new train ticket, and ironically the same price as the dreadful "no hot water" Britannia per night. I know the area around the station isn't great, the seediness level more than matches the Kings Cross area here, but all I really needed was a place to sleep and shower, so I booked it.

On Monday morning I arrived in Paris at 11am and went across the road - literally across the road - to the hotel with a view to asking if I could store my bag till check-in opened at 2pm. As soon as I walked in the staff were smiling at me like I was some kind of celebrity, which of course I'm not (I don't think they showed Comedy Blue or Funny Business on French telly). The guy on reception told me a room was already ready for me and checked me in swiftly. I wasn't expecting much, but was very pleasantly surprised. Nice big comfy bed, decent sized bathroom, cable tv with a couple of English speaking channels and most importantly a kettle AND free wifi. In this day and age wifi is no longer a 'luxury' and any hotel who charges for it, should hang their head in shame. Even the appalling Ibis Budget gives free wifi! 

I freshened up - I even put a bit of make-up on in honour of Mr Gehry - and made my way to the Bois de Boulogne. Another benefit of staying so close to the station is the great metro connections. I practically ran down the road to the gallery I was so excited. My first glimpse made my heart soar in a way it hasn't for a very long time.

Sadly, as I got closer another sight detracted from the beauty, and that was the size of the queue to get in. I hadn't pre-booked because I wanted to be free to go when I wanted to, but now I was regretting that. I spoke to one of the queue marshalls who assured me there was at least a two hour wait to get in. 'Come back at four, there's nobody here then' she advised and so I buggered off.

I jumped on the little electric bus and made my way to my favourite Paris shop, Colette. I totally love this shop it sells everything you never knew you wanted - http://www.colette.fr - needless to say I didn't leave empty handed! 

I found a cafe afterwards and filled up on some delicious pasta and coffee (not very French I know) before heading back to the Fondation. By now it was gone 4pm and the queue looked just as big! I explained that I'd made a special pilgrimage to see it, and as they were closed on Tuesdays, this was my only chance to get in.

Waterfall steps

The young woman took pity on me and showed me the secret back entrance where there was no queue. Here's a hint folks if you're going, buy a €3 ticket for the Jardin de Acclimation next door, and then walk round, you'll be in in minutes!

I can't tell you how wonderful this place is, I had a big old, shit-eating, grin on my face the entire two hours I was in there. I took a ton of photos and even managed to check out some of the art on display.

One of the highlights for me was at the very top of the building there's an outdoor viewing terrace and from there I saw a Paris I never knew existed, you see the entire skyline, and it's all shiny skyscrapers and flashing lights. I can't say I've ever thought of Paris as a modern city before, but there it is for all to see.

Unfortunately for me, closing time came all too soon, and I was left to wander back towards the hotel.

Selfie at Le Fondation Louis Vuitton

By now my ageing bones were letting me know that I'd done plenty for the day, so I stopped off at a deli and got some glorious stinky brie and crackers and headed back.

A hot shower, painkillers and cheese are the cure for all ills in my book and I'll be honest, I was fast asleep by 9pm!

I've got to say it was one of the best sleeps I've had in ages. I'd expected the hotel to be noisy both inside and out and there was nothing. My room was at the back of the hotel so there was no road noise, and everyone on my floor was as quiet as church mice. I heard nothing till my alarm went off the next morning.

On checking out, they were more than happy to store my bag till the evening, and I sauntered off for a day of Rive Gauche-style wandering.

Beautiful old door decorated with Indian swastikas

Having been told by my chum Ian Moore that today was a Bank Holiday in France (for Remembrance Day) I was expecting things to be busier than usual and they were. I decided against a trip to the refurbished Picasso Museum figuring the crowds would be just too great, and instead just strolled around the Left Bank. I found a shop I'd seen online that stocked the "gold" Thai temple bracelets, so I picked up one of those.

I spent hours wandering around the side streets and almost as long wandering around the most wonderful department store in Paris, Le Bon Marche. Somehow I left there with some divine Celine sunglasses and a new signature scent courtesy of Byredo. I almost bought a bright orange Givenchy Pandora bag, but at the last moment decided against it. Obviously, in JoJoWorld that means I've 'saved' over a grand!

I was so thrilled with my thriftiness that I splurged on dinner at Le Deux Maggots, just to say I'd eaten there. I think the handbag might have been a better buy.

Soon enough it was time to head back to London, I collected my bag, all safe and sound at the most fabulous hotel, and did the whole check-in thing at Gare du Nord. Safe to say I slept like a baby the whole way home - both my soul and my materialistic side satiated in a mere 48 Parisian hours.

The earth moved