21st June, 2009 - Sheer bleeding luxury

I am just back from Blackpool. Which was highly enjoyable apart from our accommodation. It seems that our landlord’s idea of “luxury family accommodation” is a room the size of a Coco Pops packet, with a window that doesn’t open, overlooking a building site. That smells of stale bacon.


I am not generally one to moan about hotel rooms. I was, after all, the man who took my wife on honeymoon to a little hotel in Haarlem which didn’t so much overlook the railway, as straddle it. (Even now, I think that the thunder of a freight train passing so close that it dislodges your fillings, is the most romantic sound in the world). And I didn’t moan about that did I? Well. Not much anyway.

However, my experiences in Blackpool leave me considering an angry letter to that irritating bird off of Watchdog (you know – the one who clearly believes she is the risen Christ, but with nicer legs).