Friday and panic is setting in. I was frantically cleaning the estate as Mr T was returning from two weeks in Greece. I'm really not a lazy sod but a fortnight of dog sick and withering houseplants have taken their toll and generic dusting and laundry have taken a back seat
Half way up the hall, the Dyson finds a USB lead and decides to commit hoover hari-kari. It screams loudly before wheezing to a stand-still, with one careful owner stood there in a blue sarong looking flushed. I dunno what it is with household appliances. They must hate me. It's only been three weeks since I wrote off the VAX carpet cleaner. Got a bit too close to the stairs and it plunged to it's death down two flights to the basement. It was a bit like a car stunt on Emmerdale only more realistic.
I only have three hours left and nothing but a drawer full of Sainsbury's anti-bacterial wipes to whip this place into shape before I set off on my clubbing weekend. I used up four packs but the carpets and tiles came up a treat. The whole house smelled like Lemon Toilet Duck. Better than pooch puke and peanuts I guess.
Packed my trolley case, ordered the cab and headed off to the South Coast again to meet up with my mates. I'm expecting to look like Michael Foot after running a marathon by Sunday.
The hotel was something I wasn't expecting. It's in a lovely grand Georgian Square in Brighton but as the cab turned the corner I spotted a frenzy of scaffolding and just knew that it was crawling all over our hotel.
I stood ringing the doorbell on a damp maroon carpet with my heart sinking into my scrotum. As I peered through the greying glass I could see the interior decor was like a 1970's funeral parlour, only less tasteful.
Eventually a skinny bloke in a polyester suit from Mr ByRite poked his head round from next door. 'Did you not read the notice'? he sighed, pointing at a card the size of a fag packet stuck to the inside door at knee height. Plese knock next door it said. Yes it said Plese. That's not a typo!
I hauled my case up to reception. Well I say reception but it was really just an airing cupboard with a laptop. It was at this point I noticed the cracks in the walls and part of the ceiling bearing down on us like an Airtex ice flow. I imagined Charlton Heston leaping through the bay window to rescue me during the next after-shock. Skinny bloke was actually quite friendly and helpful and gave me a cheery smile as I headed up the stairs to my room to wait for my mates to arrive.
Up and up I went as the stairs got smaller and leaned further over to the left. The banister wasn't looking very solid either so I'm now worried about toppling over and landing up with a squished neck on the maroon marshland below.
I made it to my room. Threw open the door only to be confronted by an avacado toilet on a 32 degree slope! More en-chute than en-suite. There was another door on the other side of the toilet that was hanging off one hinges due to the subsidence. I edged across sloping floor and opened the door to reveal the place I would be staying for the weekend.
To say it was small and cramped would be like saying Wayne Rooney is not a good role model for young Hobbits. The photo here doesn't really do it justice but I think you'll get a feel for my disappointment. I'm sure the inmates of Wormwood Scrubs would be having rooftop demonstrations if they were moved here. Does anyone care about my human rights?
The tiny built-in wardrobe had been cut in half and the right hand section converted (botched) into a shower. I haven't seen such a small shower since the time when I was persuaded to try a caravan holiday on the Isle of Wight during Scout week. Every morning we were knocked up early and often by relentless, spotty youths asking if we wanted anything done for a pound. A 'bob' was a fecking shilling in my day but I guess that's inflation for you.
I finally managed to lift my case, sideways, into the room but took out the bedside lamp on the way in with the retractable handle. As I collapsed onto the Baby Prince size bed my mobile started ringing. As I swung round to answer it my knees hit the dressing table and my leg was gouged by a lethal looking drawer handle. I drop-kicked my chipboard nemesis and the mini kettle fell off the shelf and soaked my new Paul Smith shoes.
Travel Lodge....all is forgiven.
No comments:
Post a Comment