It wasn’t so much the one hour queue for the tickets, nor the further hour queuing in another line to get in, nor even the half hour wait for the toilets (five seconds if you are a man – isn’t it always the case?). It was the way we were herded through the stately rooms once occupied by the Sun King himself which I worked out cost us one Euro a minute that made me rant in my best French ranting voice only usually heard after a couple of glasses of kir. And they had the cheek to put up a sign warning about pickpockets. Our pockets had been well and truly picked!
If we’d just spent all our time in the fabulous gardens at Versailles, I would have been happy. The miles and miles of manicured lawns and fabulous fountains inspired by the Greek gods were splendid and gave me inspiration for our own humble patch of Yorkshire greenery. Though there was a lack of places to sit as anyone who went anywhere near the grass were warned off with the shrill shriek of a whistle. I love the French, but they do do officious.
But it was a wonderful way to spend our 12th wedding anniversary. I did manage to break my glasses though, kneeling on them as I took a photo. Good excuse to buy a fancy pair of designer specs while I’m out here.