Postcard from Paris

Brandis in Europe ... Second leg of his holiday tour ... Interruptions Down Under ... Safely at the Crillon with a busy schedule of shopping 

A bedroom selfie at the Crillon

A rude interruption to my R & R in Europe. The PM whistled me back to Canberra ostensibly so I could stand beside him and the adorable Michaelia Cash to assist with the official unveiling of the report of the Heydon Royal Commission into vile and corrupt unionists. 

We all agree this was a job well done and there was the pungent smell of a ready made election issue in the air. 

But the next leg of my holiday, Paris, beckoned, and I was itching to get away. After on-camera air kisses with Michaelia I fled straight to a Cathay flight via Hong Kong to the French capital. 

I found Bob Carr's complaints about the first class nibbles passing strange. The nuts, in my estimation, were of the finest quality. A very attentive steward named Craig assisted with my bedding arrangements and brought extra blankets and pillows. 

Thanks Craig. 

Human Rights Commissioner Wilson is waiting for me at Charles de Gaulle and had made a booking at the George Cinq - thinking that might honour my own proud name, to wit Senator the Hon George Brandis QC. 

I've always preferred the Crillon and as it's just been refurbished I asked the Australian Embassy to get us into the Louis Quatorze suite at the grand edifice on the Place de la Concorde with its gilded angels and marble busts of Napoleon. 

The Crillon was used by the German authorities during the occupation. I wonder if our very suite was once home to Erich Abetz's grand-uncle Gruppenführer Otto Abetz, the Nazi ambassador to Vichy France. 

It could well be. I feel the walls and architraves are telling me that here once strode Otto on these same boards as he planned the removal and protection of artworks formerly owned by French people of Jewish extraction.  

It was a comforting thought that someone with so close a connection to the Liberal Party of Australia was now so close to me as I drift towards sleep under a goose feather duvet embroidered with fleur de lys.    

Through the open doors I can hear Commissioner Wilson in his monogrammed bathrobe scratching out one of his Freedom lectures on hotel notepaper, to be delivered next day to the Institute de Liberté, Égalité et Fraternité. 

As I lapse into the arms of Morpheus my nostrils pick up the faint whiff of the Commissioner's after-shave - Brute du Flinte.  

The new day sees me comfortably comported in the back seat of an embassy limousine heading to the Hermès shop on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. Fabulous cravats, scarves, ties and pillow cases are all available and I'm afraid I go overboard with the purchases uncaring whether they can all fit into my Louis Vuitton valise. 

The number of Islamic shop assistants in Paris is a concern, as it would be to any right thinking person. After what happened in November at the Bataclan and elsewhere there is an edginess abroad and I wonder as I give my American Express card to Abdullah what fate awaits me. 

The next leg is London and a round of important meetings on fighting terror and some fittings in Savile Row. 

Till then, keep up the good fight,  

George in Florence