Perhaps the wierdest night of my life began at the Atlantic Hotel. It involved Baroness Stups von Mechow, Santana and a B-List West German actress in hotpants, whose name I do not recall.
It later involved a chateau surrounded by goats, and the last thing I recall (after the soundman rolled a giant spliff) was the director of the movie standing in what appeared to be a cuckoo-clock, expounding on existentialism, surrounded by naked ladies.
Fortunately that was a long time ago: the Baroness is probably a CDP king-maker now.... You can't be me, I'm taken
