Tuesday, March 17, 2015

SPEAKING OF HOTELS...


For the past three weeks, on Sunday nights, I have sat mesmerized at my television, watching THE most fantastic PBS series ever. Well... not counting Downton Abbey maybe, or Selfridges or Call the Midwife. But I will say this... even though I adore all of the above, none of those shows even come close to how CLARIDGES makes me feel. While watching this, I swear to God... my heart pounds with excitement and imagination for a full hour, not to mention with the sheer fantasy of  wanting to be back there once again.

For in fact, I have stayed at this London hotel... while on a two month tour of Europe when I was 17 years old. The only glitch was, that back then I had no clue whatsoever what total splendor was all around me. What a  fucking idiot I must have been. Ahhh... the innocence of youth. In the meantime, watching this series makes my heart beat 140 times a minute, I'll bet. My mouth waters at the stately magnificence of the hotel, let alone the service one receives while there.

So I made a decision while watching the show tonight. I decided that as soon as I get some sort of really horrible medical news that I've got a really horrible, life threatening disease, no matter how long I have yet to live... I'M BOOKING A ROOM IN CLARIDGES IMMEDIATELY FOR AT LEAST TWO WEEKS. No matter the cost. Which might be monumental, but I don't even care. In fact, if I just plain die there, I'd be totally thrilled to kick the bucket not only in England, but certainly in this hotel. And... if I do live, then the memories alone will help me to eventually go out with a delighted smile on my face. 

Well unless I just say to hell with the flight to Heathrow airport and use those monies instead, for booking a room at the Ritz Carlton in New York, let's say. Or The Plaza. Or the Trump Hotel. Or ANY five star hotel. Hell... I'll even be thrilled with the St. Regis Bal Harbour Resort in Miami, which btw, has a minimum cost of $800 per night. My real mission here, being not only palatial elegance but unequalled service as well. As in: being treated like a Princess. Wait. Let's make that: Queen. Seriously... who needs Hospice with me at the very end when instead I can have a lavish room and sensational guest staff at my beside instead?  

I can't even IMAGINE what it must be like to be waited on hand and foot. To have hotel personnel servicing me, attending to my every wish and/or desire. But while I can't imagine it, you can totally bet your sweet ass, I certainly want to try. Trust me... I bet I take to all of it like a fish takes to water. Which goes to show yet again, what an idiot I am given I have also stayed at the other most elegant hotel in London: The Dorchester.

It was on another trip to Europe several years later, that I stayed there. And again the sheer grandeur and refined service just flew over my head. I HAD to have been impressed, I'm sure. But... I am also pretty sure my impressiveness was way way below what it actually should have been. Both these hotels deserved far more accolades than I have since spoken. It's like: EVERY conversation I have had since those trips should include my raving about it constantly. Yet alas... I don't even reMEMber the last time I've alluded to these hotels. Yeah. Well guess what. That's all in the past my friend. Because from now on...

I'm going to work these two hotels into whatever I speaking about, no matter what! OH. YOU LOVE YOUR LONDON FOG? HMMM... THAT REMINDS ME OF MY VISIT TO CLARIDGES AND THE DORCHESTER HOTEL IN LONDON. WAS MAYBE THE MOST FANTASTIC EXPERIENCE I'VE EVER HAD. BLAH. BLAH. BLAH. That sort of thing. Finally... these two hotels will get the late justice they so surely merit. 


Which only means: I'm kinda thinking that maybe I should soon begin a quest of the finest hotels between me and New York immediately. Now THIS is a project I could learn to love. Plus, THIS time I shall DEFintely be mindful of all that is about me, soaking up every inch of indulgence and assistance with delight and appreciation. Only the stupidity of being a young adult could have kept me from doing so originally. All I can say is: fuck Marriot and Hilton. I WANT WHITE GLOVE SERVICE AND PLENTY OF IT! If only. 

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