Monday, April 24, 2006

Monday, April 24th 2006 - Museum of the Politically Incorrect

The past 10 days have been taken up on the job that started out as hell in hair dye, but I have to admit it has vastly improved; given that the client finally settled on the clothing direction they desired. The most astounding aspect of this job however has been the location. The Museum of Hunting and Nature.

At present, I am typing in the Petit Salon - which in the normal universe is actually the size of a single bedroom flat in London. Looking down on me is a 2m x 1m portrait of Marie Antoinette in her Hunting attire. Everywhere you look it is books on hunting with titles such as Hunting Game with Gun and Camera, Hunting Boar and my favourite Large Game, Small Gun

Now regardless of your position on hunting (which I refuse to go into here) this is a stunning location and a memorial to a bygone era. Every nook and cranny is crammed with all kinds of hunting items. From stuffed Polorbears to Rhino, Monkeys to Cheeta. There are stuffed animal heads hanging from the walls, bronze statues of Deer, Boar, Lions and Tigers. Solid Silver Candelabras of Hunting scenes, which are so elaborate it makes you believe they will race across the tabletop at any moment. The wall tapestries with delicately woven Elephants, pheasants, unicorns and stags. In the hall is a large gothic stone staircase which I am sure they based the set design for Phantom of the Opera. It is absolutely magical. The cellar resembles a mad dungeon, its now converted to a private dining room where we have been served an amazing lunch every day. The room still has large hooks for hanging meat for the kitchens. If you were that way inclined, it would make a superb venue for any Mistress with room for a rack in the corner.

With a venue like this, it is almost understandable that when the Nazi Army came marching into Paris, the city fathers allowed them in with out a fight, thus protecting their heritage. Places such as this would have been bombed to smithereens. I dont profess to question how the French handled themselves but on the flip side they dont have the same affliction that London shares for Concrete post war painful architecture as a result.

Imagining this venue as my own private residence (it is now the Museum and a fancy expensive gentlemans club) is far far too easy. Perhaps I l suffer from my own illusions of grandeur. I know I spend a good deal of my life own little fantasy cocoon but a girl could get used to this!

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