This weekend was mine and the Bman’s annual overnight jolly at a local hotel for his birthday. Bit of Us Time, with no kids and a bunch of booze and a swim and spa. You get the picture?
My sister came to babysit and off we went, with a stop off at th’Asda en route for a bedroom picnic of randomness. Pots of pasta salad, fruit, nibbly things etc.
Was a bit peeved that the Jacuzzi was out of action but also intrigued as to why, considering the signage said in big bold letters “OUT OF ORDER DUE TO A MAJOR INCIDENT”.
What could’ve happened? Was someone sucked into the mechanism? Did someone drown? Was there a Final Destination style episode with someone pushing up too hard against the bubble pipe, getting it stuck up their bumhole and exploding?
Inquiring minds need to know.
After a few lengths of the pool where Bman tried to beat me in a swimming race (never going to happen mate – give it up dude!) We headed back to the room to get ready to head to the hotel bar.
That’s when shit started to get a bit odd. Firstly, things looked up immediately as we walked to the bar. The Leeds United squad were checking in (and some of them were checking me out). I knew where to go if the Bman failed in his husbandly duties later on or passed out too early.
Hello boys! Room G09.
The bar was unusually busy for a Best Western hotel in Bradford. I’d checked the special events board while I was waiting for Bman to come out the pool. There was nothing listed for that night. No David Bowie tribute act or Wedding Fayre or similar. Nothing. Yet the bar was 4 deep.
It was at this point that I noticed that many of the patrons were masked. I gave Bman a nudge as he tried to muscle in closer to the bar. “Brew, look at everyone. WTF?”
Belated works Christmas do maybe? I think not. I was put in mind of that documentary about dogging, where everyone interviewed was wearing badger masks. “I think we’re at a swingers do” I whispered. We were being scrutinized by the eclectic collection of masked revelers. Big sturdy women, puny men in cheap suits, young ‘uns in their 20s. All in various styles of mask. Phantom of the opera style; tragedy/comedy style; feathered and plumed; elaborate plague doctor numbers. Many of them clearly knew one another. A few looked like newbies. I was amused and slightly nervous in equal measure. I took a seat and waited for Bman to bring me my drink as I people-watched.
This turn of events went some way to explain why, when we checked in, the couple in front of us were asked by the Reception if they were here for the **loaded look toward the banqueting suite** Not sure why we weren’t asked. Perhaps we had not given the desired codeword or secret handshake or something or more likely, just didn’t look the type.
Bman lurched to the miniature chaise I’d bagged for us. He looked a bit green. I thought maybe he’d been propositioned by Fat Fucking Mavis already. Turned out he had in fact already been shafted by the barman- to the tune of £23 for 2 G&Ts!
My husband is one of the cheapest curmudgeons I know. He was going to be savouring this drink for shizzle (& talking about it for months, maybe even years!)
At some unseen signal, the Eyes Wide Shut posse suddenly all left at the same time and headed into a private function room. I speculated that it would be full of banquettes, airbeds, bowls of condoms and baby wipes with a giant screen showing porn. I tried to get Bman to go take a peek but he wasn’t having any of it. Leeds United had sloped off into a different room. Things could have got very complicated if ever the twain should meet.
Overpriced gins nursed and savoured, we headed back to our room, as a second round was clearly not happening in this lifetime. Not 5 minutes later, as we were about to get into bed, we heard what sounded like someone knocking at the door. Bman was up and at ’em when it became apparent that someone was actually using a keycard to get in. The door opened and there was a small black dude clutching a suit bag and saying “Hi, are you Brewer?” Bman is like “Erm yeah!” Geezer then says cheerily, “Hi I’m Danson, I’m sharing with you.”
“Not with us you’re not mate” says Bman. Little Danson looked proper chuffed to have clocked Bman. Clearly into the big bear man. Not so much chuffed when he saw me. (Don’t think I was his type). He was utterly convinced he was sharing with us.
Bman looks at me and I’m like, “Surprise! Happy Birthday honey – look what I ordered”. For a second he looked as if he believed me. Then I was all, “Seriously pal. WTF?” Danson was sent packing back to Reception with his suit bag and his little mask poking out of his overnight bag.
What the actual FUCK??
What if he’d rocked up minutes sooner while we are the bar and we’d come in to find him in the shower, having a shit, or worse! A few minutes later and he’d have let himself in and copped an eyeful of me and the Bmeister in full flagrante! A sight to behold from a third party viewpoint I’m sure!
I rang Reception and asked most politely if they could explain why a diminutive black man had just let himself into my room just as I was about to give my husband his birthday present.
I was hurriedly passed onto a more senior desk jockey who gabbled something about a Tai Kwondo conference (sure it is pal) and a mistake due to someone else in the hotel having the same surname as us.
We were offered a drink from the bar as recompense. I insisted on something fizzy and was told “absolutely madam. So sorry madam”. A shitty bottle of white wine arrived within 10 minutes. I don’t sodding drink white wine but was so cross I just mixed it in with the champagne that we’d brought with us.
Dunno what happened to young Danson. Maybe he ended up bunked up between one of the hefty old birds from the bar and her weedy husband. Who knows.
This morning I argued the toss at check-out with the camp flat-topped desk jockey about not paying for the room after their unacceptable mistake. Embarrassed him by telling him we had just been about to get down on it when our uninvited guest let himself in. He hid his face behind the check-in details to hide his blushes
He wasn’t embarrassed enough to give in on the payment though. But I wasn’t giving in either. He claimed the free bottle of shit wine was enough of a recompense. Told him they hadn’t even done that right.
He wouldn’t back down. I said I didn’t know what type of hotel he was working at but never in my days had anything like this ever happened to me at any other major hotel chain. What kind of establishment sends a third party into a room where a couple have already checked in to a double bedded room?
After a bit of a stand-off, some hard stares, and a slight increase in volume, we compromised with him halving the bill.
That’ll do nicely Sir. (Although I am still writing a strongly worded email to Head Office).
Maybe some other time Danson old pal. Hope you had fun inbetween Mr & Mrs Fox mask.
Could only happen to us! Looking forward to next time!
Ciao Tutti Xx