Fri, 12/10/2012 - 12:59
You know what it’s like at the Hof.
You haven’t a minute to spend in your luxury rooms because you’re too busy guzzling champagne at the bar and WORKING. “I mean, I might not even have a bed up there,” I said gravely to Milly, my new pet junior agent. “There’s no time for anything as decadent...
Thu, 11/10/2012 - 10:39
As we reached the outskirts of Frankfurt, I turned to my left—my stalker fan girl Milly Keen (junior agent from the über-hot Drummonds Agency) had nodded off. Looking down at her folder I could see her itinerary: she was booked into the Neil Blair suite at the Frankfurter Hof. Blimey.
Suddenly my austerity room at the two-star...
Wed, 10/10/2012 - 11:06
Frankfurt, is it really you again? This German jaunt reminds me of Christmas—and a certain publisher I used to hang out with. You know, they’ll come once a year and yet you never really feel prepared. “Won’t be outfoxed this time round,” I said to myself, so used the downtime of late April through September to...
Fri, 14/10/2011 - 15:37
So there I was—lying on Lord Byng of Wikiwars' bed toying with his purloined BlackBerry, when I suddenly heard the door opening. "Oh my God, Jamie's come back to shampoo his chest hair, or something," I whispered frantically to myself before bolting into his wardrobe to hide under a pile of ...
Thu, 13/10/2011 - 07:07
The trauma of being sent to Reykjavík instead of Frankfurt clearly did something to my brain because when I landed on German soil, I was actually excited. For 10 seconds.
Then I just screamed: "Oh my God! It's Frankfurt! Help me God!” Rushing out of the plane, I was greeted not with the airside runway limo I had...
Wed, 12/10/2011 - 10:33
Much like the first time you kiss someone (maybe, for instance, the gardener at school—if you're reading this, hi Eric) it's not easy to forget your first Frankfurt.
The big book at my first German shindig was The Emperor's New Clothes: A History of Invisibility which consisted of 400 blank pages and was...
Thu, 07/10/2010 - 10:53
My memoir is already getting me in trouble and out of trouble and it's not even written yet. It started with John Makinson startling me out of sleep (not like that) with an order to immediately vacate the Hasslehoff's Davidar suite, settling the €14,291 bill on my way out.
Anxious to dissolve the wrath of MakoMan, I whispered in his...
Thu, 07/10/2010 - 10:50
Back at the Hasslehof's Davidar Suite, I snuggled under a duvet with a cup of tea and a good book, i.e. the contents of the mini bar and my iPad, to check out what the fair was getting excited about this year. Feeling about as impressed as Craig Revel Horwood watching Ann Widdecombe waltz, I tweeted that I was writing my own memoir, The Girl...
Wed, 06/10/2010 - 14:36
Frankfurt didn’t start well—the flight was massively delayed getting all of Captain Maclehose’s gold, champagne and caviar onto Airship Blomkvist—the Quercus private jet bigger than Obama’s Air Force One. When we finally took off, the agent hoi polloi were crowded in the back like Easyjet cattle, all of us thinking...
Fri, 06/08/2010 - 00:00
Having had tremendous fun with Simon Prosser, Eminem and Harper Lee in a yurt at Port Eliot Festival, I decided to head to Harrogate. Festival uniform: jet-black dress and blood-red lips.
King’s Cross was strangely dark, with an uncharacteristic chill to it. I shivered and drew my coat closer. My heels echoed across the litter-...