Hello my darlings, the Fag Hag is still strutting her size trente six Juicy Couture flip-flops all over the south of France, but yesterday she found herself the victim of discrimination.
As I staggered down the corridor after a night on the Kir Royales and inserted my key into its slot, I noticed something very wrong. My door had the numbers 518 and a pretty shell motif. So far so normale. But when I looked over to the chambre on my left, suddenly I see – KT Tunstall style – in massive letters, ‘STARWOOD HOTELS PREFERRED GUEST’. Ma chambre now looked about as exclusive as a VIP area containing the C words – Chanelle and Chantelle.
‘Why the hell wasn’t I a preferred guest?’ I ranted to my travelling companions the next day who of course thought it was the funniest thing they’d heard since Geri Haliwell’s cover of ‘It’s Raining Men’. Naturellement I collared a manager about it immediately.
‘Ah, madame,’ she laughed. ‘Is just for people with points. Like air miles?’ Well, honestly, the cheek of it. A woman of my calibre doesn’t need to accumulate points to be preferred.
As I let myself back into my room, I noticed a piece of paper had been placed on my door. In black 18 point typeface were the words, ‘YOU ARE NOT A STARWOOD PREFERRED GUEST. DESOLE.’ This was followed ten minutes later by the sound of my fellow travelling companions and a chambermaid giggling.
I will not rest until I get these bitches back. And that chambermaid better beware as I’m thinking dirty and I’m thinking protest…