Skip to main content

Hotel life – at your inconvenience

Quick! More cushions!

I’ve recently spent a couple of nights in a hotel. Obviously, it was awful. Not calamitously bad or anything, just irritatingly not quite right.

Once the fundamentals had been dealt with, like; ‘Is it clean?’, ‘Are there spiders?’ and ‘Are you sure there aren’t any spiders?’ the experience was a journey into crushing disappointment and frustrated inconvenience.

The plug sockets were apparently deliberately installed by a maniacal electrician with a degree in evil. They knew how to place them precisely in entirely the right place to render them either inaccessible or useless.

Could I plug my phone in by the bed and use it as a clock so I could see exactly what time it was when I was awoken by another guest noisily using their loo? No. Any future visits to waterfalls will remind me of the horror.

The gap under the room’s door was so wide, even a moderately competent limbo dancer would have had no problem squeezing underneath. We had to line up the copious cushions from the bed across the gap. On the plus side, should we have lost our key, I think we could have still got in if we wriggled enough.

How do they make hotel rooms so hot? The radiators weren’t on and the windows were open. Explain that, and the planet’s energy problems are solved.

This was definitely the softest mattress ever. I don’t just mean in my hotel-staying experience. I mean ever made. We were lucky to get out alive without a winch and pulley system.

The early fire alarm was a highlight. I thought seriously about going outside naked, but figured I didn't really have enough time to get undressed again first.

Was the crockery from a doll’s house? If I had put all the hot chocolate sachet’s contents into the cup, there wouldn’t have been enough space for the hot water. I'd have to have poured it in my mouth and spooned the powder in. I'm pretty sure that would constitute a health and safety violation... but only if I'd actually been able to find a socket I could plug it into which was sufficiently near the table.

What's ‘continental’ about a micro-packet of cornflakes? (Other insufficiently filling breakfast cereals were also available.)

Of course, not everything is within the hotel. Who doesn't want to be awoken at 6.30am by the pastoral sounds of a beer delivery lorry and last night's empties being cleared out by staff expertly trained to find the optimal way to make as much noise as possible, solely through the medium of empty bottles? And yes I did become fully aware that "This vehicle is reversing". Unless they were driving it up the stairs to the first floor (or there's was a very large lift I hadn't spotted) the only risk was me subsequently overdosing on coffee trying to stay awake during the day.

Still, when asked, I said I'd had a lovely stay and everything was fine – I am British, after all.

This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column, in The Mail, on the 18th of August 2017. The version used on their website retained the title, whilst the print edition went with "A hell of a hotel break".

Unusually, this one was drafted out on my phone, sat on a bench outside the hotel, on a warm morning (you could tell I wasn't in Cumbria, right?). A re-write and some additions on returning home and voila! o- ne grumbly column. The picture is genuinely from our hotel room... it was a fire door. Presumably it's called that as it would have been very good at spreading fire.

(CD A-Z: Queen - "Greatest Hits II".)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"It's all gone quiet..." said Roobarb

If, like me, you grew up (and I’m aware of the irony in that) in the ‘70s, February was a tough month, with the sad news that Richard Briers and Bob Godfrey had died. Briers had a distinguished acting career and is, quite rightly, fondly remembered most for his character in ‘The Good Life’. Amongst his many roles, both serious and comedic, he also lent his voice to a startling bit of animation that burst it’s wobbly way on to our wooden-box-surrounded screens in 1974. The 1970s seemed to be largely hued in varying shades of beige, with hints of mustard yellow and burnt orange, and colour TV was a relatively new experience still, so the animated adventures of a daft dog and caustic cat who were the shades of dayglo green and pink normally reserved for highlighter pens, must have been a bit of a shock to the eyes at the time. It caused mine to open very wide indeed. Roobarb was written by Grange Calveley, and brought vividly into life by Godfrey, whose strange, shaky-looking sty...

Suffering from natural obsolescence

You know you’re getting old when it dawns on you that you’re outliving technological breakthroughs. You know the sort of thing – something revolutionary, that heralds a seismic shift it the way the modern world operates. Clever, time-saving, breathtaking and life-changing (and featuring a circuit board). It’s the future, baby! Until it isn’t any more. I got to pondering this when we laughed heartily in the office about someone asking if our camcorder used “tape”. Tape? Get with the times, Daddy-o! If it ain’t digital then for-get-it! I then attempted to explain to an impossibly young colleague that video tape in a camcorder was indeed once a “thing”, requiring the carrying of something the size of a briefcase around on your shoulder, containing batteries normally reserved for a bus, and a start-up time from pressing ‘Record’ so lengthy, couples were already getting divorced by the time it was ready to record them saying “I do”. After explaining what tape was, I realised I’d ...

Shouting in the social media mirror

It was always tricky to fit everything you wanted into the intentionally short character count of Twitter, especially when, like me, you tend to write ridiculously long sentences that keep going on and on, with no discernible end in sight, until you start wondering what the point was in the first place. The maximum length of a text message originally limited a tweet to 140 characters, due to it being a common way to post your ramblings in Twitter’s early days. Ten years later, we’ve largely consigned texting to the tech dustbin, and after a lot of angst, the social media platform’s bigwigs have finally opted to double your ranting capacity to 280. Responses ranged from “You’ve ruined it! Closing my account!” to the far more common “Meh” of modern disinterest. As someone rightly pointed out, just because you have twice as much capacity doesn’t mean you actually have to use it. It is, of course, and excellent opportunity to use the English language correctly and include punctuat...