Pretty Woman

The cab pulls up outside the hotel. I struggle out, trying to grab my overnight bag and coat in one hand while typing furiously on my blackberry with the other.

A storm of flashes go off, I'm mildly disconcerted. My fellow traveller bounds out and smiles, waving his hand. It takes a few seconds for the gathered paparazzi to realize we're not who they were expecting. The cameras go down accompanied by some very French sighing..