Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Trust a BNC man to come up with a wafer thin justification for championing a young lady with very big tits. Frankly, Agent Triple P, if faced with Miss Hazell, would be quite happy to keep the lights on and pay for a few acres of trees in the Amazon for the privilege of interacting with her genuinely awe inspiring bust.
Quite simply the Imperial had leapt straight into Triple P’s list of the top five hotels he had ever stayed in. It joined a list which included the Adlon in Berlin, The Island Shangri-la in Singapore, the Ritz in London and the Bauer-au-Lac in Zurich.
The guests included many locals but also more westerners than Triple P had seen on his visit so far. Alarmingly, a high proportion of them seemed to be French. This, however, did have the effect of improving the scenery around the pool considerably, as leggy lovelies wearing very small bikinis sat around reading Paris Match and taking desultory swims in the pool whilst their much older (inevitably) male companions had furtive gatherings in corners of the hotel or stood in little groups inside the lobby waiting to be taken to some meeting or other.
The hotel itself was on four floors and was arranged as a square with no less than eight protruding wings, giving it somewhat the appearance of a hash mark in plan view. Unlike most hotels, considerable attention to detail had been devoted to the corridors and they gleamed with marble and polished brass.
The lobby was restrained, compared with the typical South East Asian cavernous look of the Island Shangri-la, but led to a magnificent central corridor that went the whole length of the hotel. Most of the bars and restaurants led off from this corridor or the adjoining four storey atrium with its glassed-off roof, palms and tinkling fountains.
In fact fountains were to be found in many places, several of them being of the barely dressed girlie variety of which Triple P was rather fond.
The main restaurant, where breakfast was served was called 1911, reflecting the date when New Delhi took over the mantle of India’s capital city from Calcutta. It served typical International fare and was as informal as you would find in the hotel. Informality, however, when you were shown to your table by lovely sari clad women and then served by waiters in red military jackets and turbans, was something of a relative term. In a separate section of the restaurant was a glassed off verandah which was a splendid place to have breakfast.
Outside was a terrace which was a very good place to take afternoon tea. Whilst the temperature was 102º when Triple P was there, a nice breeze and large green umbrellas kept the conditions bearable outside.
The adjoining 1911 bar, whilst undoubtedly beautifully decorated was too brightly lit for Triple P’s taste and contained, horrors, a television which seemed to show, inevitably, constant cricket, much to the delight of the Australians who appeared to be its habitual residents.
He preferred the smaller Patiala Peg (named after the early twentieth century tent-pegging victory by the Maharaja of Patiala’s team over the Viceroy’s).
Our splendidly efficient barman
It contained only seven or eight tables, some rather daring Art Deco girlie statues and a lot of old Indian Army prints. It was also one of the few hotel bars in the world that made a Martini in a properly chilled glass.
Daniell’s Tavern was named after landscape painters Thomas and William Daniell who arrived in India in 1786 to paint the country’s scenery. The restaurant, with its pan-Indian cuisine, is located on the exact spot where the uncle and nephew team camped to produce thei painting of Jantar Mantar and early eighteenth century observatory. Triple P had a most splendid lunch there.
Sadly, there was not time to sample San Gimignano, the Italian Restaurant, or the inclination to visit La Baguette, the patisserie. Both looked splendid, however.
His favourite restaurant had to be The Spice Route, a South East Asian restaurant that resembled a wooden temple inside. Outside there was a stunning courtyard with pool and pagoda for al fresco dining. Recently voted by Conde Nast International traveller as one of the ten best restaurants in the world and that week having received another award for best ambience, Triple P could not think of a better place to entertain a young lady. Which he did, twice!
Outside, a short walk through the palm-filled gardens, was the pool. The palms gave good shade to part of the poolside and there was a small bar which could supply Kingfisher beer and substantial snacks. Triple P and his companion had hot Chicken Tikka and onion sandwiches in thin Indian bread which were just excellent. Service from the crisply uniformed staff was friendly and impeccable.
All in all Triple P cannot recommend The Imperial highly enough and we will just finish by saying that we venture that it is indeed the finest hotel we have ever stayed in anywhere in the world.
Now the centre of the city was seeing some glittering modern buildings go up in the area close to the astonishing Palace of Culture and Science; built in the early fifties and still the seventh tallest building in the EU. Even his hotel, the Inter-Continental, had been renovated since his last visit.
His previous visit to Poland, last summer, had been to Starachovice in the South East and the first day on this trip had been in Lodz in the South West. Whilst the hotel in Starachovice had been quite pleasant the Centrum hotel in Lodz had been one of the worst he had ever stayed in anywhere, ever.
Oddly, the view from his room was of a rather nice church but the room itself was exactly the sort you would expect to take cheap prostitutes back to.
Co-incidentally after a pleasant dinner in a trendy new Polish country-style restaurant in Lodz with I, his local contact, as they made their way back to the hotel they came across two, rather attractive in a stringy sort of way, cheap prostitutes having a catfight over who should be on the prime corner (I kindly translated their dialaogue). Triple P mused as to how much they would want to carry on their catfight naked in his room but I refused to translate his request for them.
But that had been yesterday and now Triple P was sitting in the Inter-Continental’s One Bar drinking a very good Vodka Martini and waiting for his particular friend B who had kindly shifted her schedule so they could meet up that evening. Triple P’s Martini was made with Wyborowa Equisite, a new premium brand for the traditional Polish (but French owned) firm. Wyborowa, of course, means “exquisite” in Polish so the name was completely tautologous. Some people claim that using better ingredients in a mixed drink was a waste but they, of course, are idiots. Using better ingredients improves the finished drink considerably.
He was just taking his second sip when in floated B in a cloud of Davidoff Clear Water. As she sat down she placed an order with the waitress in Polish. Triple P expressed surprise at her ability to speak the language and she replied that many German people spoke Polish. Unfortunately, Agent Triple P’s comment about that being useful if the Germans ever wanted to take up residence again was met with one of her unnerving stares, which always felt rather like one was being scanned by a Terminator robot.
B’s drink materialised; that ghastly looking crimson concoction that could only be that girlie drink in excelsis, the Cosmopolitan. When he gave her a quizzical look she explained that she didn’t really like Vodka Martinis as they made her feel strange. Triple P explained that was precisely why he encouraged women to drink them.
They ate in the Inter-Continental’s Mexican Restaurant, Frida Kahlo, which was decorated with lots of garish reproductions of the Mexican painter’s (and Trotsky’s mistress) work. Unusually, they both ate the same thing; sopa de tortilla and beef, chicken and shrimp fajitas. Triple P was somewhat alarmed by the huge bowl of tortilla chips with dips that arrived as an appetiser but fortunately B demolished most of them. They had a 2000 Cabernet Sauvignon Malbec from Baja California. It took a little while to breathe and probably should have been decanted but eventually yielded a raisiny fruit which overcame the tannin.
They retired to his room which was a considerable improvement on the one in Lodz and would no doubt have impressed two cheap prostitutes enough to fight naked.
Later, sharing a bubble bath, B quizzed him on his plans for his forthcoming trip to India. Triple P regaled her with details of his programme, seminars and hotels but was interrupted by B grabbing a sensitive part of his anatomy and explaining that what she actually wanted to hear about were his plans for female company. Was “one of your other women going?”, as she put it, as she was wondering about whether she should travel to India as well. Triple P admitted he was unattached and would be delighted to see her there, especially as he had two clear days in Delhi at the end of the visit. As in this case, Triple P had often found that by staying over on a Saturday night the airfare was reduced by such a large amount that the cost of the hotel stay was more than compensated by the saving on the airfare.
B thought it would be appropriate if she bought a copy of the Kama Sutra so that they could try to work through it during the visit.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Well, after last week's announcenment of a new Ferrari California a 1961 Ferrari 250 California Spyder Short Wheel Base has just broken the record for the most expensive car ever. The black model was one of only 56 made and was formerly owned by actor James Coburn and sold for £5 million.
All well and good but it was bought by ginger-horror DJ Chris Evans. How did Chris Evans get £5.5million (with buyers premium) to spend on a car? It's still no compensation for not having Billie Piper as your girlfriend any more!
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
More cocktails should come with miniature girls.