retiredmartin

February 2026. Monte Carlo. Monaco.

Yes, yet another reference for Charlene’s classic, the Harlow in the lyrics sadly not the Essex town.

The campaign for her to headline Glastonbury starts here.

Dumping our bags at the Aparthotel on the French/Monaco border (Mrs RM is claiming it as a night in the principality), we set off to tick the little red cars representing the highlights. Interestingly, Mrs RM claimed no awareness of the F1 circuit but had picked cars (Turin – chocolates), rather than, say, Real Estate agents, or Princess Graces or playing cards.

There’s three (3) main parts to Monaco as far as I can see, a northern quarter (joke) to the east with shops, gardens, museum and a beach, the Casino and marina, and the Old Town (the star turn). Don’t expect hand pumps.

Your own view on the appeal of the high rise that leads from the hotels along that French border to the heart of town may vary to mine,

but the palm trees soften the feel,

and as the sun (finally) comes out it feels a surprisingly relaxed city.

“What do you remember from your 1985 visit ?” I ask.

Well, it’s the shopping centre, obviously.

We didn’t find the Greggs in the Metropole;

or any prices. At all.

As they say in Oldham, if you need to ask the price you can’t afford it.

I did briefly consider hiring a car for Mrs RM so that she could attempt the F1 hairpin bend at the Fairmont Hotel,

but sadly the McLaren was just outside our budget of 20 euros a day.

A budget which I sensed would also prove insufficient for a beer in the bars of the Place du Casino,

but at least the views were free.