The exotic joy of turquoise leather,

The diamond-studded roof.

Think Sheherazade does Rich Housewives of Boratstan.

 

The mustachioed chauffeur,

Beaming with pride

Over the luminescent built-in mini-bar.

 

The passive aggressive aroma

Of air freshener aiming for

Shalimar yet instead hurtling towards the supermarket loo.

 

The sudden undulations,

-  Dare I say intrepid moves? -

Through irate traffic.

 

The blonde twit, AKA moi,

Repeatedly bag delving,

For lip gloss and iPhone and notebook.

 

EXT: - Arrival at Six Senses Hotel, Istambul.

Retrieval of bags and suitcases.

“Thank you so much, have a good day.”

INT. - Six Senses reception - Afternoon

Good afternoon Mr and Mrs Bossert, welcome to the Six Senses Hotel. How was your trip?

Blablabla

May I have your passports please?

Fumble fumble fumble.

My husband hands over his Swiss passport

I continue to fumble as the sweat begins to pearl on my forehead and my stomach drops further and further into the depths of my pelvis.

WHERE IS MY EFFING PASSPORT?

LOST!! WAIT…

MAYBE IN THE CAR? QUICK, CALL THE CAR!

PHONE WILL NOT WORK BECAUSE BLONDE TWIT /AKA MOI UPLOADED A REEL ON LANDING, FORGETTING THAT TURKEY IS NOT PART OF THE EUROPEAN UNION, AND THUS GOBBLING ALL HER DATA IN ONE SILLY ALPINE MOUNTAINOUS GULP, SO CANNOT CALL THE CAR, NOR EVEN CONNECT TO WIFI FOR SOME VERY DISTRESSING REASON.

BLONDE TWIT IMMEDIATELY BECOMES INTERNALLY HIYTERICAL, HAVING VISIONS OF MIDNIGHT EXPRESS.

HER COLITIS BEGINS TO FLARE.

SOMEONE PLEASE, BRING HER A BARREL OF SIX SENSES SMELLING SALTS AT THE PRICE OF BAZILLIONS, AND CHARGE IT TO THE ROOM!

ARGH!

LONG STORY SHORT: my husband makes a call, and the number the car is found, and moustachioed man is messaged and:

INT. : Miles away from Six Senses - car - afternoon.

The clash of turquoise leather…

With red SWISS PASSPORT!

INT.: Int. Six Senses Hotel Reception -

Photo of passport belonging to BLONDE TWIT appears on iPhone.

CUE Maypole dancing and white wine drinking! May the festivities begin!

Hours later, the mustachioed, traffic dodging, turquoise interior loving, luminescent mini-bar afficionado, odour-resistant chauffeur returns passport to reception and blonde TWIT/AKA MOI is spared the MIDNIGHT EXPRESS experience.

HE IS MY SUPERHERO!