Landing in sunny Geneva with the air at a dry 27℃, we boarded buses to take us to Montreux, backdrop to the events of Deep Purple’s Smoke on the Water, a song in which Frank Zappa’s gear gets burnt to a crisp after a nutter with a flare gun shoots it off in a casino theatre. The drive took about an hour and as we approached our destination, we descended from great heights “down to Montreux”, to our hotel.
It began to rain on our final approach, and we alighted the bus into a cool, lusty humidity, the still air filled with the scent of a million fresh photosyntheses. We had the rest of today to ourselves, and to make it even worse, tomorrow is another day off. And if that isn’t the most detestable news roundup you’ve ever read, just imagine hotel conditions so complete in their deplorable implementation as to render such a heinous view:
Sometimes I have to remind myself to remain professional in the face of such intolerable conditions; if they don’t have cocktail umbrellas, I quit.