I know better than to ask much more of life than a hunt in a tub

Oh, but how it does pour

when it rains at The Blue

Remembered Hills™. 

Widely understood to be

the basic news of the

world for many in the

incurable adventurer set,

its travel entries take 

us through one comfy hotel

suite for strategic napping 

after another, from Rome to 

the Riviera to London to 

Vancouver. I, for one, fol-

low our roving romantics in 

only the keenest interest in how they take their eggs at Claridge's and Manhattans in Canada, with the squirmiest 

sense that Scott and the

Murphys are in awe of their revenge. But it is below the bar, in the Comments section, where the mayhem they inspire results in the swappage of tales too delicious for premeditation.

I put it to you, that only the other day, a reader wrote in to boast of doing away with a fox in his bath. Now this quality of élan in the getting through of one's day is so gallopingly disappearing, that we were all put on notice, to get on with the revels in our own tub at once.

They are, you know, everywhere, these bathers of high invention. It remains only to exchange profiles and preferences in poaching. I know better than to ask much more of life, than a seasonable hunt in a city of high rainfall and plush linens; and when I heard that our travelers were off to the wettest resort in the continent, I knew the thread count would be sublime.

And should it not be? Growing up, you know, they teach us that it is bellhops, who have all the fun. Well, who knew, that it is their wit for hotel habitation, not some occupational quirk which makes this so. I credit BRH™ with drawing this distinction (and so many fine ones like it). Moreover, I can't believe it goes too far to cite the multilinguality of bellhops as among the more natural of their advantages in hotel habitation, where it isn't a veritable cascade of tongues which counts so much, as the right one for any given traveler. Connoisseurs of the narrative of the bathtub hunt have much to be thankful for, that English is so well assimilated at BRH™, and that our fellows enjoy setting foot out of town with such free fancy.

And yet, you ask, can it fairly represent our most cultivated of connoisseurs and faultlessly companionable of duos, to portray their nappings as the rallying point of their readership? But surely this is a query for which no host can be answerable, in this era of sometimes detached retinas. We do remember their hotels, because they document their amenities with the tellingest discernment. Possibly a good natured speculation flows from fine fellowship and, as in any serviceable arterial bypass, invokes a vein of convenience to channel happy data to the healthy heart.


















i  Clément Chabernaud