ONE DAY, I’LL STAY THE NIGHT…

My last time in Paris, I was supposed to run half a marathon with my friend Madieke the next day. We wanted to meet at the start the next morning (we both slept in different hotels with our mothers). But it was hard to find each other amongst the other forty-thousand participating people. We didn’t find each other at the start, nor at the finish. We called each other up crying, in the pouring rain (emotions run a bit high after twenty kilometers), and decided to meet somewhere below the Eiffel tour. That too proved impossible. There were so many people. Madieke left to catch her train, whilst I stayed another night. I drowned my misery in style with cocktails and motherly comfort at The Mandarin Oriental, a brand new top of the bill hotel on the Rue Saint-Honoré. And it was fashion week to boot, so sitting front row had never been as easy. Georgio Armani was drinking some wine in the lobby as Sylvie Meis and Danie Bles were just leaving. We had a gin tonic with a slice of cucumber. Hendricks Gin. My favourite.

It was that one accessory that was the absolute finishing touch. A yoga mat by Hermès.

‘How much would a room cost here, mum?’ Perhaps nice to stay here with girlfriends. My muscles felt too stiff for me to walk over to the reception to ask. ‘Mille euros madame,’ said a sweet French girl in a sharply cut Hugo Boss suit. Halleluja! I hád to see one of the rooms. Would the thousand euro a night really be noticeable? I saw an incredible bedroom, with clouds for cushions, fresh flowers on the ebony desk, a separate walk-in closet and a bathroom to die for. But it was that one accessory that was the absolute finishing touch. I looked at the majestic bed, or, to be more precise, next to the bed, and there it was. The yoga mat. A yoga mat by Hermès. And that made the room priceless. I was sold.