I haven’t been blogging much lately. Mostly because I’ve kind of got used to the Travelodge life. And not being filled with wild goggling horror makes for not very interesting posts.
But this week I decided on a change. So I booked a room in a pub in a small town called Towcester. Pronounced Toaster.
On first glance Toaster is a fairly cutesy little town. On second glance it is a cutsey town filled with wrong uns. The third glance is thrown over the shoulder as you run away screaming, to check no one is following you with a lighted pitchfork.
Anyway the pub I stayed in was, I would say, the joint worst place I’ve ever stayed in my life. I’m not certain where to start. Perhaps that on showing me up to the room, the admittedly very pleasant proprietor asked if anyone had told me about the flood. Fortunately my room was not underwater but the stench of death has seeped in.
Onto the room. It had a shower in the corner. But no bog. I mean there was a bog but it was away down the corridor. Far to far to nip during the night, especially if you’ve forgotten your jammies and are sleeping naked. Can you imagine what might have been the result? I mean we’ve all surely weed in the shower at some point or other. But how many of us can honestly say they have weed in the shower when they were not actually taking a shower at the time.
There was also no heating, or double glazing and the room was above a pub and on a main route for haulage firms it seems. Net result – no sleep. This morning I was a woman who had been on the edge, but had crawled over it and found a ledge over the edge and was on the edge of that. I was so furious that I kicked over a “Caution Wet Floor” sign on my way out. That’s sticking it to the man!
Anyway I called the place this morning and told them I wasn’t coming back and they couldn’t make me. They were actually very nice about it and let me off paying. So I got a night in a hell hole, but a free one. I feel a bit bad about repeatedly weeing in the shower now.
Back to the safety of the lodge tonight!
