Time Warp

Help me, I seem to have slipped into a time warp and travelled back to the 70’s. I’ve also somehow managed to walk into Fawlty Towers – no joke – Manuel took my bags up to my room, Basil is manning reception and Sybil served me my dinner. Welcome to The Grand Hotel in Swanage.

So it all seemed to start off well, our cabbie Gary picked us up at 3pm at work assuring us he could get us to the hotel in 2 ½ hours. There was me, Ginger, the chick from HR (not Fuckwit) who’s expecting (a baby) who actually already has a nick name “Swim” so I’ll stick to that and a guy from Finance whom none of us knew but seems like a sound guy. He’s a Saffa but he’s camp as Christmas with a wicked sense of humour so I’ll call him Kenneth.

I fell asleep for most of the journey and none of us really perked up until the cabbie started to get lost around Poole. He was relying on the sat nav which seemed to be taking him anywhere but the place he wanted to go (at one point we turned into a pub car park and not the motorway – I mean I haven’t done ‘The Knowledge’ but even I know the difference between the M3 and a Harvester) and eventually rocked up at a ferry port. After enquiring from a guy in the queue we discovered that you could get to Swanage across the water so Gary took a chance and we hopped on board. Then followed a 10 minute journey through noman’s land with Gary joking that every shack we passed was our hotel and Swim asking if we were in Wales (she got a bit confused and thought we were going to Swansea....)

Finally we pull up at The Grand. Hmmmm, maybe back in 1968 it would be classed as that but nowadays I think it’s somewhat lacking in living up to its name. The sign outside boasts 3 stars no less, again, not sure when that was awarded. Gary found this all rather hilarious and was still laughing as he got back in his cab to start his journey back to civilisation. He’s meant to be picking us up on Thursday as well but he may still be driving round the countryside trying to find the ferry port at that point.

At check in we discover we are all on the 3rd (top floor) and that the lift is broken. Joy. Also breakfast is served at 8am – the time when we are meant to be collected by our cab to take us to the venue for the course. Great. Oh but we can request a continental breakfast in our rooms before then – toast and cereal for me then. Fuck that, I want my full English, even if it does make me feel queasy at 7.30am. Manuel helps us to our rooms as we make our way up the grand staircase with drapes and some amazing art work on the walls. We’re trying not to laugh too much at the whicker chairs on the stairwells and the creaking floor boards. I hope my room has a sea view....

I enter my room which smells....old. You know, musty, mouldy, damp, like death. I am thrown back to the hotel rooms we stayed in in Wollocombe Bay when I was 8 and nothing has changed. I have taken some photo’s on my phone and will try my hardest to get them on to my computer but can’t promise anything. For now you’ll have to do with a detailed description:
As you come in the room to the right is my dressing table with the most retro hair dryer I have ever seen. Kenneth thought it was a lamp. I also have the standard tea tray with coffee etc on it and a box of tissues. To the left is a very nice green chair with coverings on it like the ones you get at weddings. I have a wardrobe and what appears to be a Hobbit’s wardrobe as well. The bed seems ok but I threw the scatter cushions on the floor, worried what stains and bed bugs might be festering in them. On the bed side table is a lovely, tobacco stained radio alarm clock and some wonderful matching furniture.

The bathroom has a slanting ceiling (as we are living in the roof) which I keep banging my head on. My shower is the highlight of the room – green on the base with the shower head thrown nonchalantly onto the floor. I’m scared to get into the shower, I think I might come out dirtier than when I got in. I don’t even want to put my shampoo bottle in there.

About 5 minutes later Ginger is knocking on my door, she’s not happy. Whilst she doesn’t have a green shower her toilet doesn’t appear to flush and she is worried she might catch something nasty from walking around barefoot in her room. I am hysterically laughing at this point – well if you don’t laugh?

Fuck unpacking, I’m not hanging anything in that Hobbit cupboard so we hot foot it down to the bar where the lady serving seems confused over everything she is asked for. The guy before me asks for a Fosters top and she starts pouring out a bitter which he has to point out she is doing. I order Ginger a vodka and diet coke and she starts opening a bottle of tonic water...

On the plus side the view from the ‘conservatory’ is lovely, an amazing beach and seafront but it is pissing it with rain. Another thing is that this place is the most boiling hot place I have ever stayed. They seem to have the heating up full for the middle of June. I had to open all the windows in my room just so I could breathe and have been walking round in a t-shirt all evening.
Dinner was actually really good and we all took advantage and had the 3 courses. Also, the drinkers had a glass of wine with the meal which they asked if we wanted ‘put on our room tab’ – er ok. At the end of the meal I questioned reception and discovered work had paid for the meal but no drinks with it. Soon put a fucking fix to that, Swim will be on the case in the morning to Fuckwit to warn her she will be paying for our meal drinks minimum. Otherwise I am kicking off again, she has us in this hole the least she can do is shout me a glass of wine with my steak (oh yes I am ordering all of the most expensive meals).

Swim and Ginger went to bed at 9.30pm and me and Kenneth had another drink in the bar and he went off at 10pm. Part-ay. At the moment I am sat here making the most of the free Wi-Fi (only available in the ‘lounge’ (literally, I tried it in the next room 3 foot away and it didn’t work) with “Sealed With a Kiss” playing drearily in the background. All the OAPs have finished watching the football and gone to bed and I am alone apart from a group of suits having a business meeting and a Spanish family.

I should go to bed as my ‘continental’ breakfast is being brought to my room at 7.30am but I don’t want to go back up there. Don’t make me. I’m sure someone probably died in my bed at some point and from the look of it something is living in my shower.
I’ll report back tomorrow on Day 2 if I haven’t been murdered in my sleep or knocked myself out on the ceiling in my bathroom.