Bilingual version (with French text) of an ebook from "Hermit's confessions (film "No-Shows" postscriptums)", n° 19 "Singuliers" magazine – ISSN 0992-2881.
​​​​​​​To Adam, the sleeping receptionist... I am George Gilbert Scott, or rather his ghost, or something else, perhaps even someone different with the same name who looks a lot like him – but it doesn't matter. I was the architect of hundreds of buildings in England in the 19th century, but of only one hotel towards the end of my life, which was partially opened on May 5, 1873 : what is now called the St Pancras Renaissance Hotel London ; for the rest, namely the reasons for its closure and reopening, one need only refer to what is told on the internet... In my lifetime I was called a cynic. I took my revenge by leaving to posterity the decadent neo-Gothic image of a phantasmal England, which still believes itself to be the queen of the world, to the point of still defending its exit from Europe out of sheer stupidity. Now I haunt my hotel, especially the part where the suites giving access to what is pompously called "Chambers Club" have been fitted out – in fact a way to dissuade from the too complicated room service in the immense corridors and staircases of this building where there were hardly any drains until not so long ago... I also get revenge on occasion since the restaurant opened with my name on it – to pay homage to me I guess – has closed (I have a too big room with my name on it but I'm never there). So when I saw these two Frenchmen arrive from Paris, who were also there to prepare a little book praising my hotel, on the occasion of the 150th anniversary of its opening on May 5, 1873, I couldn't help but spoil the party a little... The girl at the reception, named Eve perhaps – and with an equally foreign accent – didn't understand the request : they wanted to pay for the two nights on the day of arrival, and any extras separately on the day of departure (real palaces like the Hotel des Trois Couronnes in Vevey, Switzerland, which doesn't use the Euro though, have no problem with this) ; this receptionist made three mistakes : instead of accepting the payment, she opened a pre-authorization ; there was no credit card receipt given even though the PUK code was dialed ; moreover, the pre-authorization was made in Euros and not in Pounds Sterling : they realized soon after that they had overpaid by several tens of Euros, because the exchange rate used by the hotel is much less interesting than the one used by the French bank, which doesn't charge exchange fees. Later, another receptionist, probably Adam (I usually find him amusing when he's all asleep at the start of his working day), spoke in English – he only knows that language – to those French people as if they were morons : he didn't understand either, or didn't want to understand – and therefore didn't apologize for his colleague's mistakes during the check-in. Obviously, no response from the stooges to this email criticism, so he transferred it to a higher place, with the announcement of the publication date, and also of the pre-order of my satire – a satire that will have no effect on the number of clients, since their lack of culture is in line with that of the staff... By the way, this receptionist reminds me of the creature with the crumpled suit that does the food service in his "Chambers Club", a clown with checks more discreet but less elegant than those of a Duke of Windsor's suit : this head waiter is also too tired to greet the customers when he recognizes them, even when they don't have the usual vulgarity of those who have enough money to frequent this part of the establishment. Ah, when my hotel opened in 1873, the chamber pots and bathtubs came and went in the corridors, but at least the service was grand...