despite the French endowing their consummate skill for all things lavatorial.
Bourbon Street is a kind of Blackpool Promenade but with Kiss Me Quick hats swapped for "Kiss me "Whatever as long as you wear beads" .
What is a bottomless stripper anyway? So what did the microdot M&Ss cover in the first place?
I don't think the Ursuline nuns quite had this in mind. But maybe the presence of a stack of relatives related to see below, meant they were probably fighting a losing battle.
Not to mention that if you hop on the free ferry across to old Algiers
You can pick up your totty here, have a couple of Louisiana Lemonade's and go back to her slave condominium and what the sisters don't see can't hurt them!
And I am sorry to say that surrounded by this volume of smut I did momentarily succumb...
We did manage to go to see what we thought was the original reason for Bourbon Street being famous rather than infamous.
Maybe life and death were and, given Katrina, are so close that there is a what the hell attitude. This is the only place other than Highgate that cemetery tours are so popular.
And you may well ask did we expand our real estate collection - Napoleon's Third Empire ...pah..were they talking in fractions?
We decided against the house in which we stayed...Pepto Bismol pink is not our colour.
The internal decor was lovely and a sunny courtyard etc would be nice. For those of my work colleagues who have been to UTECH in Jamaica then breakfast time was very much like that at the Liguaene(?) Club in terms of ambience and outlook.
The remarkable thing about this trip is that for the first time since arriving in the US I have felt the need to defend P's honour........
The first time I was helped by the weather...the famous female topless bead collectors of the balconies stayed indoors so that I did not have to avert P's eyes from any pendulous orbs other than church bells and even if the ladies had braved it I think binoculars would have been required.
The second time I had to gently draw attention to his blushes when he repeatedly got his bottom pinched on Bourbon Street by a group of unleashed, minister-less Texan ladies dancing to Kool and the Gang.
We both had a lesson in consummate, carefree, self expression while minding our own business getting coffee. It was though the sloppiest effort at cross dressing I have ever seen - a man not dissimilar to Marty Feldman complete with a woman's yellow halter neck top of the kind you would find in Ethel Austin (of Hull) or BHS (in the 70's), gobstopper size white string necklace, eye shadow and mascara, lipstick though faded since first applied, men's slacks, trainers and a New York Jets jacket complete with cigarette burns topped off with a voice that made Jason Robards of Ol Man River fame sound falsetto. We got talking following spontaneous laughter because his grown up son obviously wishing to follow in dad's slingbacks in reverse managed to develop a cream beard, eyelashes and eyebrows when the lid of his coffee cup fell off at full tilt. It didn't seem to occur to him he had been less than assiduous in his attempts at decolletage.
Louis A, to whom there is a park which has not yet got to the top of the post Katrina sort out list was so right..."What a wonderful world".
And finally to the blind man in the parade below who, whisked me up into his arms, told me I smelled gorgeous, kissed me on the cheek and then asked if I would join him in the parade and blow the big fella with a panic on his face.....
...I am sending your guide dog back via UPS and I am so glad my mother taught me not to surrender my tuppence for a string of green beads.
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