Regular readers will be aware that only yesterday I wrote a breathless account of the worst hotel in the North West of England. I did concede, however, that my opinion might alter upon sampling the hotel breakfast. But no! I burnt the fingers of my left hand on a stack of hot plates, and the palm of my right hand by trying to pick up some boiled mushrooms with a metal spoon that had been coming to near melting-point all morning. Everything else was rubbish too, mind you, although the toast was of very high quality (triangular, cold, with small packs* of butter).
The blowsy cretin on reception became defensive when I asked for a discount. "What do you mean, your room was dirty? Take me up there and show me and we'll see", she warbled in disbelieving tones. "No need", I said. "I have photographs here. Would you like to see them?". "£20 off suit you, madam?", she squeaked. "It'll do", I said, and flounced out of the door, whereupon I tripped down the disabled ramp and twisted my ankle.
* I will not use the word 'pat'. It makes me sick.
3 comments:
Sounds as if our little monkey needs some veterinarian treatment.
Sending virtual hugs in the meantime.
Possibly, but mainly she needs to sleep in the same bed for more than two nights in a row, and if she needs to go to Canada to be able to do it, so be it.
Thank you for your kind words. I am tired and therefore extremely irritable and over-sensitive. soon, I will be getting in a fight for the sake of it.
you could take that hotel guide and burn it! Dirty buggers, aren't they?
Lotsa hugs virtually yours. xx
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