This week Cameron’s acquaintances have been in town as the Monaco yacht show was on. A small flotilla of luxury yachts have been moored outside the port, which itself was filled to capacity. This is the week when the great and the good come to planet money to pick their next boat. I have been enjoying my lunches overlooking the bay, as I’m picking out my first boat. The difference is that I’m only working on planet money and owning a yacht will probably remain a dream.
This is the problem with this place; all of a sudden your dreams become bigger. I never imagined having a boat, especially not anything over 30 meters. Now I’m having the following conversations with my colleagues:
‘Mr X just got a new yacht, he paid 5 million euro’s for it’
‘Oh, he won’t get much for that’
The other night I was walking to the station, when I spotted a Bugatti Veyron (it’s a very expensive and rare car and a petrol head’s wet dream) with the obligatory group of tourists circling around it with their cameras. I was tempted to tell them that there was another one parked around the corner in a different colour. I was in a hurry and I’m trying to stay nice. I do understand how Cameron got corrupted by planet money. It is easy to get your head turned and start seeing this world as normal. Luckily there is always the pauper train home, which now has standing room only as I have to share it with equally tired yacht show sales people on their way home to planet reality. My sore feet are still firmly on the ground. The weather has not been great and the views overlooking the port are mostly prettier, but I'd thought I better take a picture of the port being filled to capacity.