Wardrobe Washing and Tepid Sausages Part 1

Friday and panic is setting in. I was frantically cleaning the estate as housemate was returning from 2 weeks in Greece. I'm really not a lazy sod but 2 weeks of dog sick and withering houseplants have taken their toll and generic dusting and laundry have taken a back seat

Half way up the hall, the Dyson finds a USB lead and decides to commit hoover hari-kari. It screams loudly before wheezing to a stand-still with 1 careful owner stood there in a blue sarong looking flushed. I dunno what it is with household appliances. They must hate me. It's only been 2 weeks since I wrote off the VAX carpet cleaner. Got a bit too close to the stairs and it plunged to it's death down 2 flights to the basement. It was a bit like a car stunt on Emmerdale only more realistic.

I only have 3 hours left and nothing but a drawer full of Sainsbury's anti-bacterial wipes to whip this place into shape before I set off on my clubbing weekend. I used up 3 packs but the carpets and tiles came up a treat. The whole house smelled like Lemon Toilet Duck. Better than dog sick and peanuts I guess.

Packed my trolley case, ordered the cab and headed off to the South Coast again to meet up with my mates. This time we're celebrating because we've all managed to secure jobs after the re-org/re-structure. Could have been very different but after months of uncertainty it's all come good so I'm expecting to look like Michael Foot after running the London Marathon by Sunday.

The hotel was something I wasn't expecting. It's in a lovely grand Georgian Square in Brighton but as the cab turned the corner I spotted a frenzy of scaffolding and just knew that it was crawling over our hotel.

I stood ringing the doorbell on a damp maroon carpet with my heart sinking into my scrotum. As I peered through the greying glass I could see the interior decor was like a 1970's funeral parlour, only less tasteful.

Eventually a skinny bloke in a 100% polyester suit from Mr Byrite poked his head round from next door. 'Did you not read the notice'? he sighed, pointing at a card the size of a fag packet stuck to the inside door at knee height. Plese knock next door it said. Yes it said Plese. That's not my typo! I decided it best not to comment and asked him to check me in.

I hauled my case up to reception. Well I say reception but it was really just an airing cupboard with a laptop. It was at this point I noticed the cracks in the walls and part of the ceiling bearing down on us like an Airtex ice flow. I imagined Charlton Heston leaping through the bay window to rescue me during the next after-shock. Skinny bloke was actually quite friendly and helpful and gave me a cheery smile as I headed up the stairs to my room to wait for my mates to arrive.
Up and up I went as the stairs got smaller and leaned further and further over to the left. The banister wasn't looking right solid either so I'm now worried about leaning over too far and landing up with a broken neck on the maroon marshland below.

I made it to my room. Key in door. Flick to the right and threw open the door to be confronted by a toilet on a 32 degree slope! I stood for a bit staring at this toilet and wash bowl and after what seemed like an age I realised there was another door on the other side of the toilet. I stepped uneasily across the sloping floor and opened the other door to reveal the place I would be staying for the weekend.

To say it was small and cramped would be like saying Wayne Rooney is a dumpy, hirsute, chav with a liking for shagging old birds. The photo here doesn't really do it justice but I think you'll get a feel for my disappointment. The tiny built-in wardrobe had been cut in half and the right hand section converted into a shower. I haven't seen such a small shower since that time when I was persuaded to try a caravan holiday on the Isle of Wight during Scout week. Every morning we were knocked up early and often by relentless, spotty youths asking if we wanted anything done for a pound. A bob was a fecking shilling in my day but I guess that's inflation for you.




I finally managed to lift my case, sideways, into the room but take out an IKEA bedside lamp on the way with the retractable handle and collapse onto my narrow bed. My mobile starts ringing and as I swing round to answer it my knees hit the dressing table and my leg is gouged by a lethal looking drawer handle and the kettle falls off the shelf and soaks my shoes. I glance up at the telly. I now know why they've got flat screen TVs............you couldn't fit a bloody normal television in here!

To be continued........................................