My word, Pumpkins, that’s what I call a wedding. A good dose of pomp is just what a gal needs now and again.
(Between you and me, Pumpkins, I’m glad this one’s been test-driven prior to the nuptials. That dear Kate obviously has great handling.) And speaking of living in a pressure cooker – the gal barely has the ring on her finger and the Bishops are on about ‘life flowing’ through her. The poor woman’s womb is no longer her own.
Here in travel we have our own fascinating femmes – and they deserve to be celebrated too. Other than one or two standouts, such as the affectionately known “Mrs. B” – who earned the title of grande dame decades ago – travel tends to crown Kings rather than Queens. So here is a long overdue Hoorah to those broads among us who over the years took no guff from nobody; graciously withstood the test of time; and honourably served whatever higher cause they were called to.
I refer of course to the grand duchess of dames, Jill Wykes, who has decided to hang up her travel armour. Yes, dahrlings, at the end of May, Thomas Cook will be motherless. They really should put her face on a tea towel.
Part of what makes a dame great is knowing when it’s time to sortie. It’s an art I never mastered. When the lights come on at 3:30 and I catch my reflection in the bar’s mirror – I realize, once again, that I should have left before the mascara streaks, grim pallor and bloodshot eyes turned me into a zombie raccoon. That’s why you’ll never see this mug on a Royal Doulton teacup.
