Tag Archives: hotel

Ibble Ibble omnom


What?
Ibble ibble omnom
Sorry, what?
ibble ibble omnom
Ok. I give in, I still didn’t get it?
I’M HAVING A NIBBLE ON ONE!!
One what?
Mushroom
Eh?
The left over mushrooms, I’m having a nibble on one.
Flippin’ ‘eck! All I heard was Ibble ibble omnom. It wasn’t worth all the effort!

And so went the kitchen conversation this morning while we patiently waited for the last two guests to turn up for breakfast.

Art the moment we have a house full of mostly elderly people, it’s a bit like God’s waiting room. The all queue up outside the dining room door to be sure of getting the table closest to the buffet when breakfast starts at 8.15.

The only young couple we have in come down for breakfast just as it’s ending at 9.15 which means we stand around for half an hour not able to put anything away or clean up until they’ve been. The boredom leads to some ridiculous conversations, as you’ve just found out.

Advertisements

Generating too much heat


You know when you have what seems like a really good idea at the time but you quickly realise you’ve made terrible mistake and can’t then back out?

That was us a month or two ago.

The hoteliers group hold a monthly coffee morning in winter. The idea is that you put on coffee and cakes and provide entertainment of some sort and it’s a nice social occasion but not totally pointless.

Last month was a talk from a tax inspector. Riveting stuff.

Anyway. They asked for volunteers  to host the next coffee morning.

“We’ll do it”  I heard.

Mad fools, I thought. What? Wait! Was that MY voice? What the hell…? Have I  gone stark staring bonkers?

It seemed like a great idea at the time. We’ve done loads of work and I was keen to show it off.  We’re  really proud of our place now.

Still a few more jobs to go but we have bags of time, I thought. Four months. No problem.

Four months ago we had bags of time.

My, how time flies.

It was yesterday.

Fifty five hoteliers turned up for coffee and cake and to run their critical eyes over my soft furnishing and their wandering fingers over my dados.

In the last week we have ramped up the decorating, furniture painting, cleaning, polishing, and general sprucing up.

By Thursday of last week the pressure was getting to me and a migraine was building up – it was probably over exposure to paint fumes now I come to think of it. I’ve breathed in so much paint that I don’t even notice it any more.

Why the hell did I agree to do it and especially on bloody Valentine’s and half term week.

What a fool!

We had house full of loved up couples for Valentine’s weekend and by Sunday my migraine had me threatening to rip my eyeball out. Way beyond being able to cope and with the cocktail of pills I was taking failing to work I announced to Boofuls that I was off to bed to try and sleep it off.

Our bedroom used to be one of the guest rooms. We have room one.

As I drifted off to sleep I suddenly heard a wailing coming from room two. Oh my good God! Ooh. Ooh. Ooh OOOOOHHHHHHH!!!!!

I thought bloody Lassie was in the next room!

I put my pillow over my heard and tried my best not to listen. Difficult above all the wailing.  Eventually it all calmed down and I drifted off to sleep.

RIIIIIIIINNNNGGGGGG!!!!!!

The fire alarm went off!

I leapt out of bed. Slipped on some shoes and proceeded to work my way round all the rooms, banging on the doors and shouting that it wasn’t a drill and it was time to go. I worked backwards round the corridor, starting at room 8.

Boofuls checked the fire alarm console and established where the fire was.

Room two.

We went and banged on the door and it was answered by the chap, zipping up his trousers. As soon as he opened the door it was obvious there was no fire. So far so good. Bear in mind that Boofuls had no idea about what had been going on in there just a few minutes before. “Have you been smoking in here?  Nope.  I struggled to keep the smirk off my face.

I wanted to save them further embarrassment at having literally been caught with their pants down and suggested that if they’d had the shower on it might have caused the alarm to go off.  At this exact point Boofuls said,  “You’ve obviously been generating too much heat in here.” Their faces were a picture.

Unable to contain myself any further I just walked off up the corridor stifling my guffaws while Boofuls looked at me in total bewilderment at the cause of my mirth.

It was blummin’ priceless! oh, how I love being a hotelier, it’s a laugh a minute.

We never did find out what actually caused the alarm to go off. Maybe it really was because they were hot stuff.

 

I just don’t get it


Ok, I’ll admit it. I’ve really enjoyed watching Britain’s Got Talent.

Yes, yes, I know, it’s trashy tv and I should be ashamed of myself and tune in immediately to the arts channel but you know what? You can’t beat a bit of ‘easy on the brain’ tv when your just plain knackered.

Of course I have every right to be knackered since in the last week Boofuls and me have been to Wales (twice for me), Glasgow, Manchester, Oxford for Boofuls today, then York next Saturday and that’s without mentioning all the downloading, backing up , processing and everyday business stuff we’ve been getting on with on between times. Oh yes, and don’t forget the doggie portrait session I did yesterday.

Never mind, we’re well into mad June and it won’t be long now till it’s over and we’re off on our jollies.

So. Back to the plot: Britain’s got Talent. Did you see the young lad  with the blonde hair, the dancer? Wonderful dancer, graceful, light and a joy to watch. Except.

I just don’t ‘get’ contemporary dance. There’s music, there’s dancing but there’s no link between the two that I can distinguish. Does that make me a total pleb?

This young lad was dollying round the stage, leaping and twirling while a very nice piece of music played but could I make it fit? Could I hell.

Twirl, twirl, twirl, jump, pirouette, flail arms round a bit and drop to the floor at the end. As for the music, it went: lilt, lilt, lilt.

Try as I might I couldn’t make it fit. My brow furrowed with concentration as I attempted to understand the interpretation and understand it all but nope, I failed miserably.

Give me a nice bit of ballroom, latin or ballet any day, I can make sense of that.

*********

The Glasgow trip was interesting. I’m not totally sure it justified the 400 mile round trip or the money it cost us for the seminar and hotel but it was ……..ok….ish.

Talking of the hotel – I don’t usually  give out onions and roses to the same thing at the same time but I’m going to  make an exception this time.

I’d really been looking forward to dinner in the hotel we were at as the restaurant had rave reviews.

It was with a great sense of excitement and occasion that we sat down at our table.

Boofuls ordered a bottle of wine and I’d ordered my customary g & t since as we all know me and wine aren’t the best of friends due to my allergy to it.

We began to peruse the menu.

The menu was lovely, pricey but lovely. I baulked at paying £23 for a 5 oz fillet steak  but I justified it by telling myself it was good restaurant and it would be worth it.

For my starter I went for the haggis fritters, well, you know, when in Rome and all that. Boofuls went for garlic mushrooms.

Both starters went immediately back to the kitchen as they arrived at room temperature. Disappointing. Sigh.

Little did I know that was only the beginning.

We ordered our steaks, as normal, rare for me and medium for Boofuls. That was the plan anyway. When they arrived mine was  ‘medium to well done’ and Boofuls’ was a chunk of wood, black on the outside, solid and dry in the middle. We really could  have done with some steak knives as well but none were forthcoming.

“Excuse me, I don’t want to be a nuisance but…”

My steak went back to the kitchen, Boofuls decided to persevere with his, a decision he later regretted.

My second steak duly arrived, I prodded it with my finger. ‘Hhhmm it’s obviously not overcooked but…’

Sure enough, it was still mooing, a good vet could have revived it. It was the bluest of blue steaks. Not only that but it had not one, not two but three huge veins of gristle criss crossing it.

I pushed it to one side, bored with it all at this point.

Me? Bored with food? Unheard of!

The manager came across to us, “Is everything ok?

“Well….”

“Let me get you something else.”

No, thanks. I’ll eat the potatoes ( dauphinoise, very buttery and nice) and order a pudding.”

“Well the dessert and your wine is on us.”

So, along came the dessert menu. Of course I stopped reading as soon as I saw licorice ice cream. Yum, yum, yum. I love licorice. It came with a vanilla creme brulee which I thought was a funny combination but hey ho.

Pudding arrived, followed a minute or so later by the manager who by this time was almost wringing his hands with desperation, hoping to find happy customers.

“Is dessert ok?”

“Well……..yes, but….. is that licorice ice cream? It looks and tastes like vanilla to me.”

The manager’s eyes nearly popped right out of his head when he saw the little white blobs of vanilla ice cream on my plate. I’m sure I saw them quake with fear and try to hide behind the creme brulee pot at the look he gave them.

“I’ll kill him,” He audibly muttered under his breath.

He snatched up the dish of ice cream and marched off with it towards the kitchen, looking a bit manic, like Basil Fawlty trying to keep his cool and failing.  I don’t know what he said to the chef when he got to the kitchen but I’m glad I wasn’t in his shoes because that was one irate manager.

By this time it had all become a big joke for me and Boofuls, helped along by the fact that I’d decided to help myself to his  wine and the combination of that and not much to eat was playing a big part in helping me to see the funny side of it all. The rest of the evening past by in a merry, blurry haze. A merry, blurry haze I greatly regretted the next morning, I can tell you. When will I ever learn to leave the wine WELL ALONE?!

Unusually for an onions and roses I’m not going to name and shame the restaurant.

It’ll have to be an anonymous  because I don’t think it would be fair to name them.

Although the food was dire the manager was brilliant and handled everything superbly. The bill for the entire meal was cancelled, including the wine, so me and Boofuls left very happy if a bit hungry and quite squiffy.

So there were are.

Onions and roses for the same place on the same day. Nasty big stinky onions to the inept chef but a huge lovely bunch of fragrant roses for the manager – and all the other staff at the hotel because everything else was spot on.

Winter Blues


Winter greys, more like. The lovely snow went as quickly as it came leaving everything behind  in varying shades of grey. The sky is a particularly grim shade of grey this morning.  The wind is howling round the house trying to find a way in through the ill fitting windows and doors. I know that wind doesn’t have a colour but if it did, this one would be grey.

Drab, drab, drab, drab drab, I hate it.

To cheer me up, here’s a photo from last week:

snowy gate

Boofuls and me are doing an engagement shoot in Blackpool today. I think I’ll look for a nice, bright grafitti-ed wall to use as a backdrop and get a bit of colour going on.

The plan after the shoot is to spend a bit of time just chillin’, Boofuls has booked us a room at one of the nicer hotels. We might go to the Tower for a bit of dancing or we might go to the theatre, or we might even do both.

I’ve downloaded the Worpress app for my phone so I can even keep you updated live, as the action is happening.  Or you know what? I might not. Let’s se how the mood takes us.

Have a nice Saturday.

I’m too bloody old for all this


Last night me, Boofuls, Lashes and Machinegun went out to a black tie dinner, the first of this season. They  can go one of two ways, these dinners, they are either mind numbingly, excrutiatingly boring or they are a complete hoot.  Last night was a complete hoot.

A combination of good company, decent food, flowing wine and a room full of people creating a satisfying buzz gave all the ingredients for a good night out. Old friends brought along some people who quickly became new friends and a good time was had by all.  The disco was DIRE, which of course added to the fun. Inappropriate dancing 70’s,  80’s, and techno style, Boofuls forgetting that the foxtrot works best when it’s danced with 4 beats to a bar not 3.5 as he was doing and a fair amount of shoulder bopping ( very dangerous in a halter neck dress when you’re built like I am) made a night to remember. Actually, considering the amount of alcohol we got through I’m surprised we remember anything!

I do remember a certain high ranking police office who was at at our table, reading his speech using  the backs of a set of Thunderbirds xmas cards as his cue cards. I declared my undying love for Scott Tracy to much derision from the assembled group.

Scott Tracy. Photo from: http://www.freewebs.com/thunderbirds-unofficial/thecharacters.htm

Sigh. See, even as a kid I liked my men tall and dark though preferably with no strings attached. Anyway, after quick boogie on the dancefloor I returned to find the photo of the afore mentioned Scott on my seat.  I picked it up to  be met with roars of laughter.

“HAHAHAAAAA, We wanted to see if you’d sit on his face!!”

WHAT?  Waaaayy too much to drink, I think (titter).

Before we knew it, it was 1.00 a.m, where did that time go? Machinegun and Lashes went home in a taxi and me and Boofuls settling in the residents bar to watch the antics of the bridal party from the days wedding reception.  One chap insisted on taking our photographs even though we strenuously denied any connection to either the bride or the groom. ” Yoosh look show egulant I mush tay   { burp}  a  photo”.

In an unusual moment of forward thinking some time last year, me and Boofuls booked a room at the hotel we were at. We stayed in the bridal suite. I bit ironic considering recent events. The room was fabulous. The bed was appalling, a very beautiful antique number, was about half the size we are used to and  it squeeked and creaked more than a squeeking, creaking thing. Any thoughts about impending hanky panky were quickly  dismissed as the bed signalled to the whole hotel what was going on.

I spend half the night  cursing under my breath and clinging to the edge like a bat as Boofuls spread himself out and snored for all he was worth. It’s fair to say that I wasn’t at my brightest or breeziest this morning as I greeted the world with a “shut up and fook off.”

Breakfast in the hotel was an experience. The guestes from the previous day’s wedding who had stayed over had decided that the dining room belonged to them. They lifted the jug of orange juice,  which, I can tell you I was in dire need of, from the buffet table  and kept it on their table. Gee thanks.

We eventually went in search of a waitress and ordered out breakfast. All the while the wedding party screeched and squawked as the mother of the bride kept shouting out, “Morning Mrs Pilkington. How does it feel to be Mrs Pilkington?”   etc etc while running round taking photos of everyone as they shovelled bacon and eggs into their over large gobs. I bet the  photos are lovely.

I may have suffered a small amount of sense of humour failure as I looked up at one point just as the flash of her camera fired in roughly my direction, blinding my poor hungover eyes. “Why don’t you just fook off and be perky somewhere else?’ crossed my mind more than once.

Eventually our poached eggs turned up. “Do you think we might have some coffee?” I enquired of the over worked waitress. Eventually the coffee turned up. “Do you think we might have cups to drink it from?” was my next question, swiftly followed by, as the cups were banged down on the table, ” I don’t want to be a nuisance but how about some milk and sugar.. and maybe a teaspoon? One between us will do, we’re not fussy.

Boofuls and me had breakfast in virtual silence. To be honest, we could hardly hear ourselves over the racket coming from the bridal party and it wasn’t worth the effort trying to compete with them, so we didn’t. Not that I was up to much in the way of conversation, an occasional grunt was about all I could manage.

It was with a  certain amount of relief we checked out of the hotel to the peace and quiet of the car.

I really must learn to party more sedately, as becomes my age and station.  I’m getting way too old for all this. I should be tucked up in my bed for 10pm like a good granny should.  Pppsshhhtttt. NOT!

Looooooong weekend away


What a brilliant weekend we had. Our plan to mosey down the country over the course of the weekend so we were in the right place for the funeral of a friend on Monday was a genius, if rather expensive, plan.

Booful’s birthday pressie of a tip to the Comedy Store and stay in a hotel turned out to be a good choice.  Advertised as starting at 8pm, we had to forgo our pudding at the hotel due to the stupidly slow service in the restaurant so we were there on time.  At 8.45 as the slow handclapping from the audience was starting to take hold, the show started and it was excellent.  Four comedians and a belly full of laughs later we strolled back to our hotel making the most of the lovely, warm evening.

As normal, being a light sleeper and not used to traffic noise I was awake half the night, here is the view from our bedroom window at 4 a.m.

Manchester Dawn

I was balancing the camera on an upturned cup with a ciggie packet on top of it to get it to the correct height, then using the 10 second timer to remove any camera shake from pressing the shutter.  After I’d shot about 10 frames it occurred to me that it was probably not a brilliant idea to be doing that as the orange lalshing light might have looked a bit strange to anyone in the railway station. I half expected the police to come and batter down the hotel door thinking there was a sniper in there!!  I went back to bed a bit sharpish after I’d had that thought.

Breakfast was in the lovely restaurant we’d had to leave so quickly the night before. No rushing now though, we enjoyed a leisurely brekkie of just about everything; fruit, full English, croissant -just because it was there – I could hardly move after. A very different brekkie to my usual meagre portion of cereal with poo yogurt on it. By poo yogurt I of course mean pro biotic.

Don’t you just love people watching?  We sat for ages making up stories about the other diners. There was a group of Chinese people who fascinated me because  they moved in unison, just like a shoal of fish, when one turned they all turned.   I could have watched them all day.

Ok, I have to go now to catch up on the mountain of work  that has appeared on my desk while we’ve been away – how did that happen??  More weekend tales later.