A note about living in a palace

Now when I was a little boy, I never dreamt of living in a palace. I guess that is not what little boys dream of. I dreamt of scoring the winning drop goal for Wales v England (rugby) or taking a hattrick against Australia at Lords (cricket) but I never thought about where I would be living when I was achieving these awe-inspiring sporting feats. It wasn’t that I was against living in regal surroundings, I just never gave it much truck. So, I can’t say that when I discovered where I would be living in Japan that it was a childhood dream come true, but I was rather chuffed to learn I would be living in a palace. Not just any palace, but Leopalace; a palace fit for the king of the jungle. 

I tried to imagine what a Japanese palace would look like, an eastern ornate style with gold fixtures and red silk fittings and statutes of Buddhas and servants to serve me sushi and sashimi from a silver platter…

Now, I don’t know who Mr Leo is, but my guess is that he has never seen a palace in his life. Either that or he is the most shameless charlatan of the modern era. Because had Mr Leo seen a palace, and / or had some degree of dignity, he would never have named the flatpack, fire hazard of a building that I am currently sleeping in after ‘the official residence of a ruler, pope or archbishop’. I am not sure how many kings sleep on futons on the floor, in a one room flat with a kitchen as part of the hallway. I am not sure how many popes have a bath so small they have to curl into the foetal position to bathe. (It is actually quite comforting). I am not sure how many queens have a vertical ladder to a loft that is a firetrap in the making. So, Mr Leo, please refrain from calling your properties palaces and call them after what they most resemble, LeoCaravans. 
P.S. I know this should have been the first blog post on last year's blog, but I've only just thought of it :-)