Getting into the Starck Club wasn’t easy. There was always a long line, and the doormen were highly selective about who they allowed to enter. In my early twenties, with bleached blond hair, I was hip enough to pass. I wore black parachute pants and white leather shoes—very Duran Duran-esque.
A blog in English, French and Dutch about memories, reflections, romance and justice, such as In the Village of Monaco, Dans le Village de Monaco, Professor Pim and the Evil Queen (Poem), Is het Koningshuis grondwettelijk ? When Sinatra Sings, Promised You America, Le Starck Club, Monique Conduisait une CITROËN SM, Les Oiseaux-Grues de Monaco and more . . . "To ask nothing. To expect nothing. To depend on nothing" -- Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead