What is it with British Hotels? Why is it that all seem to conform to a low standard?
Last night I stayed in one such establishment. The advertising Blurb for our “Luxury Double bedroom” no way lived up to expectations.
Four Poster bed was the main theme. Now I expect a large room with a huge bed nestling in the centre. Nope. How can a bed with a faux canopy over the head end, possibly be called “Four Poster”. Where were the other two posts? (I wonder if I can get a rebate?)
How can it be called luxurious, if you have to be as slim as a pencil to negotiate round said bed?
Of course there was the En Suite. The usual cheap as chips shower, over an old bath, and surely they could have afforded a toilet roll holder? (Maybe I’m being a bit picky here).
Chintz furnishings? Oh so last century.
Why should I have to rebuild the bedside lamp?
The usual tea and coffee making facility. It’s a pity the kettle didn’t work. Is their no professionalism, in that it might be an idea if they checked these things in advance?
Surely they could supply me with a front door key? It’s not much fun having to find your way round to the back of the hotel in the dark and enter via the fire exit.
Breakfast. Don’t get me started. Tea and Coffee. Great. Most of us would like some milk. Just because I said I’d be down for breakfast doesn’t mean that I’ve automatically signed up for a full English. I only wanted toast.
And finally. There was a large car park. Covered in gravel. You try pulling your wheelie suitcase across gravel. Believe you me, it’s like swimming in treacle.
I’m glad to be home. (WE haz toilet role holdar).
