In which I once again seek out The Worst Hotel In The World – and succeed
Sunday 24th June 2012
Some readers may remember the
truly bad B&B/Inn we stayed in last year when we did our first ever sportive, in the New Forest. We have since found a lovely place there which is a secret. However, with this exception, we seem to have an amazing ability to select odd or plain nasty places. Two weeks ago, we took part in a sportive – a cycle race – in West Sussex, so we needed a B&B close to the starting place. With a well-placed, as it turned out, sense of dread, we started our search. The small hotel we selected was, on the interweaves where we found it, apparently a lovely place with good reviews. In real life, it was a lovely building with a nice garden – but oh my, the place was strange.
We had asked before booking if we might be able to have breakfast earlier than their usual weekend start time, 8.00 am, because we wanted to leave by about 7.30 and start the event at about 8.30. Yes, this was no problem in fact they had just that weekend done the same for some other guests. But on arrival, the receptionist to whom we mentioned this, seemed unsure. In fact, she seemed alarmed, almost a bit afraid. I think she was Italian. Or Russian. She ventured that well, by all means, she could
ask the owner/breakfast maker (I assume)…but it was not really likely that he would agree. To which we said, oh no it’s fine, don’t worry, it
was him we spoke to when we booked it. A nervous shake of the head, a shrug of sceptical shoulders – an anxious glance into the gloomy recesses of the dining room. She brightened. Did we want to book a table for dinner? It was a good idea as tonight would be very busy with many guests so best to book now. No thanks, we wanted only a pub meal and an early night.
Later, we came back from the pub at about 9.00pm and the owner was leaving, driving a member of staff home. As we crossed the car-park, he drove up to us, wound down his window and demanded to know if we were Number 21. We admitted that we were. He then launched into a lengthy speech about how they
never serve breakfast at 7.00 or any earlier than 8.00 on Sundays, and it was outrageous that we expected this. Furthermore, it was impossible even if he
was minded to offer this, as at 7.15 he himself departed from the hotel to collect his staff; and the guests still in residence were locked in – or I assume, locked out if they’d popped out for any reason at that hour. Until his return some time later. Startled, I asked if they’d be able to get out in the case of an emergency. Yes, they could – but they couldn’t get back in. In the case of an emergency I probably wouldn’t want to get back in but I let that go. Mark said: but, it was
you I spoke to, why did you say it was OK if it’s not? At this, both Hotel Owner and Staff Member babbled at us that it wasn’t him and no-one would agree to such an outrageous request, indeed, she was more vocal than he, but in a muted muttering sort of way. We said, feeling very awkward, as if we had requested some service that was perhaps improper or outlandish, such as the provision of live sea-lions in the bath, that it was fine, we’d forgo breakfast but we would in any case be leaving (or attempting to leave) the hotel during the lock-down period. This startled them. Oh but how? The front door and bar doors will be locked. Well, we’d use the fire escape then, or we could just leave when he did. Muttering followed and finally, with a theatrical sigh and an oh, alright
then! you
win! sort of hand/shoulder throwing gesture from both – impressive if potentially dangerous in the front of a tiny Nissan Micra, a space they entirely filled – he said he himself would prepare us some breakfast but we’d have to eat it at 7.00. As if 7.00 was probably a deal breaker, being the middle of the night and we’d say no. In fact, 7.00 was what he’d agreed to on the phone when we booked. They snapped up the window and attempted to get the Micra to flounce out of the car-park. Leaving us just standing there. Feeling in some way dirty, as if we had suggested tormenting their puppy was our greatest wish.
The thronging dining room that we had been led to expect was in fact an utterly deserted room, other than the scent of vegetables cooked many moons ago. In the sorry tale of our stay there, our earlier decision not to book a table was indeed a beacon of light. The thick, tomb-like gloom slowly loosened its grip to reveal the receptionist lady, hunched by a desk light in a lobby in the corner. Agitated, she rushed over. Oh, it was just as she had predicted, Hotel Owner had been furious about the breakfast. She lamented and wrung her hands. We all then had a nice little chat actually in which we bonded with each other about how odd he was, and nasty with it. Of course this was disloyal of her but I didn’t blame her. Why, we all pondered, did he agree and then say no and deny it all? Mark for once really joined in, cross that his careful plan had been torn up in this way and that his word was doubted. Why would we make such a thing up? She indicated with a slight glass-drinking gesture – the international language of mime that says: he was probably drunk. No! Oh but yes! No! And so on. It was very satisfying. Shortly, because we had no faith in the breakfast or any of his concessions, she showed us the fire escape, in case we wished to leave the hotel during the lock-down. This was accompanied by her monologue about how she had worked in many hotels, most far better than this, but some small and none had been like this. I believe her.
In fact we did get breakfast, served to us in the dark and with an atmosphere of electrifying tension and fury – not on our part, I might add – at 7.00 by Hotel Owner. The entire place was locked down as if against some siege or plague and Mark had earlier spent some time breaking out of the fire escape to release our bikes and load up the car while I stood about uncertainly in the dining room of doom, listening to a rising crescendo of pot-and-pan overture from the kitchen. An outburst of two breakfasts finally erupted, served at the temperature of magma which was terrible because after a brief encore of pot-beating, Hotel Owner loomed over us and paced about in the vicinity of the front door, indicating with a most eloquent silence that we must make haste. This caused me to really burn my tongue as I tried to bolt the moulton-hot food and that made me
really cross – you know if you accidentally bite your tongue or worse, your inner cheek? How unreasonably angry does that make you? It can’t just be me. Anyway, we parted with our money and he saw us off before locking and bolting the entire place and screeching off into the West Sussex morning to fetch his lovely help-meet.
The race was rather tame after all this. It was a tough 66 miles but in brighter news, I had painted my nails to match my new bike:
Please share any hotel/B&B tales with me. I am starting to think I am jinxed. If in the interests of research you wish to stay at that hotel, just email me. It would be really funny if you arrived and said: you agreed that you would have a troupe of monkeys dressed as Matadors here to mix cocktails for us, that is still OK isn’t it? I expect he’d say but yes, of course. Breakfast at 7.00 you say? – how
dare you? Leave at once and do not (further) darken my door again!
Please share any hotel/B&B tales with me. I am starting to think I am jinxed. If in the interests of research you wish to stay at that hotel, just email me. It would be really funny if you arrived and said: you agreed that you would have a troupe of monkeys dressed as Matadors here to mix cocktails for us, that is still OK isn’t it? I expect he’d say but yes, of course. Breakfast at 7.00 you say? – how dare you? Leave at once and do not (further) darken my door again!
Eeeek, poor you! Sounds like hotel service based on a certain 1970s sitcom – only scarier…
Just making a note to self never to take up any of your hotel recommendations!!!! 😉
xxx
v wise my love! in fact I could probs start a little side line in which I tell folks where I am going/have been and they can avoid. That is apart from our lovely B&B in New Forest which is a gem! XXX