The Hotel Inspector

I haven’t really stopped laughing for the last couple of hours. Let me set the scene, starting a couple of weeks ago:
Me: please can you book me a hotel for these dates?
Work admin lady: we are looking for someone to try out a new hotel as an overflow option instead of that normal classy joint you stay at. Would you mind?
Me: yeah, whatever.

Today I looked at the recent one point trip advisor reviews from the last week and wondered if I should have considered this more carefully.

My review:
This is a 1655 (they don’t let you forget it) coaching inn with bits added on. I first started laughing as I walked up the uneven (death trap) grand stair case to my room named Charles II. There is a stuffed animal in the format of a one eyed black dog tethered outside my door. Tethered from the inside of my room I assume so no one would nick it?

And inside I have a mahoosuve fireplace (boarded up, there is no lighting those logs), a four poster bed and some biscuits like the stupid little biscuits they give you on train stations with your cup of tea.

I am very adept at dining alone these days. I get my iPad, headphones, plenty of wine and order with free adandon. A burger is good to order as it gives a useful assessment. I would have apologised to Will if I gave him one like this for his tea. And the chips were horrible.

The chocolate fondant was bloody lovely though. And I think the terrified boy serving me was in between Will and Daisy in ages.

And this is a view from my bed with borderline offensive misaligned non- symmetry. And my pink bra that I can’t be bothered to move. And extras of the dog, the room and the snow flutter from my office. Long may the snow last as a flutter. Perhaps I have chosen the wrong days to come to the east....