Monaco

‘It’s an awkward time,’ my mum is saying of our afternoon flight. ‘Too late for lunch and too early for dinner here, then when we get over there it’ll be too late for dinner all over again.’

‘You don’t have to eat dinner at the same time this week, you are on holiday,’ I counter, wondering why I ever thought this might be a relaxing break.

‘We can have supper when we get there,’ placates Dad.

‘Which would be what? A small portion of dinner? Then I’ll be hungry all night and I just cannot sleep if my stomach’s rumbling,’ she moans.

‘Then let’s get you a packet of biscuits to keep in your handbag,’ suggests Dad.

I’m surprised there isn’t one in there already.

‘Oh I’ve got one of those,’ she says (glad I still know my mum), ‘but it’s not the same. You need a bit more than that after a long journey.’

I stupidly voice a question that floats into my head.

‘Can you take biscuits through customs? Or any food for that matter?’

‘Bill,’ she panics, ‘what if they confiscate them? What will I do then?’

Dad reassures Mum that biscuits aren’t a threat to national security; they’ll be fine.

He suggests going for an extra meal, ‘like brunch but in the afternoon’, and I say thanks but no thanks to joining them. I opt for a coffee and some quiet time watching the runways.

Airports have changed so much since my time; this place is enormous and so busy. Excited families and bored businessmen wait to take the same journey, each dreading sitting next to the other. I still get a buzz from just being here and watching the planes. I feel that wonderful sensation when you know you’ve left the ground and you’re airborne, on your way. I used to watch nervous passengers with their eyes tightly closed, clinging to the arms of their seats during take-off, but for me it was the best part, I was flying, actually flying.

The airline crews sauntering through with their trolley bags fill me with envy. I know it’s harder work now (and I have to say the uniforms look more threadbare) but it still seems glamorous and fun being part of that team and those captain stripes are incredibly sexy even now.

I’m always very polite to cabin crew, paying attention during the safety talks and asking for nothing awkward; I know what it’s like looking after hundreds of people every day. For this reason, I anticipate Mum’s request for an extra sandwich on the plane by giving her mine.

Eventually we land and step from the cool darkness of the airport world and re-enter the summer sun of the real world. I get everyone to our hotel and then I’m off-duty for the rest of the trip.

No matter how well you think you’ve dressed, in Monaco you’ll always feel slightly shabby. The place loves to flaunt its wealth and this is particularly evident around Casino Square. The place just oozes the glamour and notoriety of the Rat Pack era; the cars are something else. You’re either here to watch or be watched and if you want any visibility at all, you need a Ferrari or a Lamborghini or one of the ones I’ve never even heard of.

‘Is that a Hennessey Venom GT?’ asks one of my Mercurians.

My dad and his friends are in complete awe. ‘It certainly is, one of the top ten most expensive cars in the world. Go on, name three of the others,’ says Dad. This quiz team never stops.

Fortunately the owners of these cars like being gawped at. I order a glass of champagne and sit quietly on the terrace watching my charges enjoying themselves. I know we can make this club work and I know we can make people happy; we just have to be around long enough. If we get good reviews from this trip then we’ve a chance of making that happen.

I’m interrupted from my thoughts by an older gent and his expensive scent. He leans over me and asks me something in French. At first I think he’s looking for a spare chair or something but then he tries again in English.

‘You are looking for business tonight?’ he says.

Completely misinterpreting the situation I’m about to say yes and ask him where he was looking to visit but my mother gets there first.

‘You filthy beast, get away from my daughter,’ she yells twirling her clutch bag around her head on the end of its little gold chain and launching it lasso style on the perpetrator. ‘She’s not some floozy, she’s been brought up properly,’ she adds.

I’m not sure who moves faster, my ‘client’ or the hotel staff, trying to restore calm. They can’t get us out of there quickly enough. I feel the need to offer payment for my champagne but they wave it away while simultaneously seating a new group in my place as if the fracas hadn’t just happened.

In a square full of beautiful people and even more beautiful cars, my mother has managed to make herself centre of attention and she’s enjoying it.

‘The cheek of it, my Angie doesn’t look like...one of them women,’ she says.

She pulls me close protectively while tightly wrapping my pashmina over my cleavage.

‘He must have thought you were one of those high-class ones,’ she rationalises.

‘Gee thanks, Mum.’

‘Let’s go down to the harbour,’ suggests Dad and we follow his calm lead.

There is so much to see in Monaco and by the final evening, when we hold our travel club extra of a night-drive around the F1 circuit followed by a champagne reception, people are already talking about having to take another trip together.

‘We could all go back to Casino Square and earn a few euros to help pay for it,’ becomes the standing joke of the trip.

My mother continues to be outraged that anyone could mistake me for a hooker, but I think she’ll dine out on it for quite some time.

I’m glad Ed didn’t come; if he had, I wouldn’t have been on my own in a café, wouldn’t have been propositioned and the group wouldn’t have bonded as well. However, I don’t want him to think I’ve forgotten him, so I include him in my jaunty text to Charlie:

GOING WELL, WONDERFUL PLACE BUT HAVE BEEN MISTAKEN FOR HIGH CLASS HOOKER! ALL HAVING FUN x’

I then delete ‘hooker’ and replace it with ‘escort’ – just in case he thinks I’m hanging around on street corners.

High class? comes the typically sardonic reply from Charlie.

That’s one way to boost profit from Ed. No little ‘x’ at the end.

I really must give him that list of films to watch.