You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Hotel Splendido » Page 1 | Search
This is a question Hotel Splendido

Enzyme writes, "what about awful hotels, B&Bs, or friends' houses where you've had no choice but to stay the night?"

What, the place in Oxford that had the mattresses encased in plastic (crinkly noises all night), the place in Blackpool where the night manager would drum to the music on his ipod on the corridor walls as he did his rounds, or the place in Lancaster where the two single beds(!) collapsed through metal fatigue?

Add your crappy hotel experiences to our list.

(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 16:05)
Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

"Le Bocage", somewhere in northern France
Gritty bedsheets from the previous dirty-toed guest. Noisome, mouldy bathroom (sorry, no Europeans except us do proper plumbing). Barman dropping copious quantities of Gauloises ash on the glasses he was supposed to be wiping.

As a parting gift, violent food poisoning 24 hours later for the whole family.

We should never have given them Calais back.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 18:35, 1 reply)
God Damn Amsterdam
About 9 years ago, I went to Amsterdam with my then-girlfriend. This was the first holiday we had without our daughter in tow, who was left at my mother's - one night only, which we thought would be enough.

First mistake - we stay in Amsterdam the day *after* Queen's Day, which is some sort of big national holiday out there. The place looks like it's been bombed, only with litter. Everyone apart from us has a hangover after what looks like a really good party. Oh well.

Second mistake - the hotel. The stairs leading up to the hotel were like the north face of the Eiger. "Don't fancy those much for later" I thought. The room itself was so small the radiator had to go up, rather than along, the wall. The previous occupants of the bed had black pubes; I could tell by the state of the comedy shower, and the bedlinen.

Oh well. "By the time we get back here, it will be 2 in the morning and we'll be mullah'd" I said to the girlfriend.

Mistake number 3. After trawling round Amsterdam, and eating some pancakes, stopping off for our first joint in a cafe called "Grey Area". This place (I found out later) sells the strongest dope in Amsterdam.

Mistake number 4. Asking for a ready-rolled joint.

The rest you can guess. 3/4rts of the joint later, we are both caned. After staggering around the Dam, and getting lost, my girlfriend does a whitey and collapses. Somehow we get a taxi back to the hotel room we hadn't planned on seeing for many hours to come.

We stayed there for the next 6 hours until we both felt well enough to move. All there was to watch on the postage-stamp sized TV was the snooker world finals.

And it was my birthday.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 18:28, 3 replies)
School trip to London early 80's
Ah yes... 15 years old and off to London we did go. No idea of the name of the place, but it was one of those old Victorian buildings that had been bought by some gentlemen of a forrin nature and turned into a "hotel" 4 floors of rooms, 2 bars and a "disco" (dance-floor, one mirror ball and a spotlight)

Our room (on the basement floor) (4 of us sharing) had its own bog and shower at least, even if it was built into the corner like an afterthought.

The walls were covered in "Beauty board" that magic stuff that looked like pine sheets until you realised it was a laminate plastic, hiding damp stained wood-chip wallpaper behind it.

Beds were ok I suppose, nice enough and the room was just big enough for the 4 beds to fit into. huge big old Victorian windows looking straight out onto a wall, and big high ceilings. and then we discovered where the disco dance-floor was.

right above our room.

After a sleepless night, we awoke to the smells of bacon and eggs... and found we were getting a "continental" breakfast. we actually thought the bread roll and orange juice was a starter, and were most annoyed to find that was our lot.

we were told by our bus driver that afternoon that some Scandinavian schoolgirls were on the 3rd floor, and our mission was to investigate if this was true at about 1 in the morning. only we were caught out by one of the male teachers coming back down the stairs after "talking to" one of the female teachers... the bastard. And, according to our bus driver, there was indeed some "rather nice young ladies" on the 2nd floor that were "mad for it". It never occurred to us to ask how this 50 something bald bloke knew this.......

anyway, on the 2nd night the bog overflowed, and the shower broke and we had to be moved upstairs to sleep in the only available room. the disco. In sleeping bags.

because of this "inconvenience" our final night was much better having been "upgraded" to the "posh" rooms on the 2nd floor, these were the same as the basement ones, but had daylight. Went to have a shower before going home and discovered there was no hot water, so

I wandered down the hall to the other shower room and discovered that there were indeed some fine young ladies staying there, as one of them was in the shower, and yes they were indeed "mad for it" unfortunately, I know this only as our maths teacher was the one finding this out.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 18:24, Reply)
The Hilton is shit
My Dad got a room there for a night, 35 quid on lastminute.com
Usually they charge something extortionate, £135 and one of your testicles, something like that.

Anywho, he paid for the valet service, they say they'll take the car off site. For you see, this was in Nottingham, where the chances of a Saab 93 getting vandalised was as well written into the stone tablets of fate as MMORPG players gaining obscene amounts of fat.

Well, they didn't valet the car. Didn't take it off site, so it got vandalised.

The repairs cost £93, the bed was hard as rock, and there was noise all night from a crimbo party downstairs.

Fortunately, me old man is a solicitor, so rang up the manager and said
"Look, I'm a solicitor. Either you pay for the damages or I'm suing you"
"Err... right away sir, I'm writing the cheque right now"

Aah. There we go, rant over.

Apologies for length. Actually, up yours I don't care, your life is a waste of time anyway.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 18:19, 2 replies)
Lovely Lisbon
The harbour in Lisbon, early nineties. Small hotel, dirty but adequate. Bar on ground floor next door. Go into bar on way home, have a beer, feel intimidated by hard crowd, go to room.

Wake up by loud screeching noise from outside.

Go to window, see lady with blood pumping from sliced face, with screeching friend by her side.

See man with biker colors on back and bloodied knife in hand run into the hotel you're staying in.

Drag cabinet in front of door, lock yourself in bathroom for the night. Sleep not.

When paying next morning, observe that the receptionist seems to be a member of the same biker gang as the knife-wielding misogynist.

Do not argue about having to pay too much.

Leave, gingerly stepping around blood on ground.

That's all.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 18:18, 1 reply)
two for one!
1st: actual hotel...

The gambia, last year, I can't remember the name of the hotel, but, whilst having lovely grounds, the rooms were out of date, poorly lit and the cleaners constantly showed up to chat up my sister. still, happy hour every night. cant compain. nice weather too!

2nd: I lived in a shed for 18 months. To anyone who stayed with me (theres at least two of you on here) I am truly sorry. The place was a shit tip.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 18:17, Reply)
is it safe?
i would have to say the Britannia in Birmingham. Had to stop there with a mate due to fecking uni rules at Aston. We arrived at the 6th floor and the elevator doors opened.....to a construction site. After a little trip through this site with a bag containing clothes and a laptop (thank Argos for big bags, and thin handles, finger was numb for a couple of days afterwards.) we arrived at our room. There was nothing on the telly, which was no bigger than a portable) so we played Worms. It was then i looked up at the cieling and noticed that, not only the fire detectors/alarms were missing, but the live wires exposed as well.

still didn't get a discount, but found an even better hotel for just £10 extra (with complimentary hair-drier).

apologies for length, girth and lack of cock (in the story, not real life).
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:52, 2 replies)
Liverpool!
This is not only a tale of a crappy hotel experience, but a crappy experience in general. Saying that, it made us giggle like hell.

Two almost eighteen year old girls, on the day before the second's birthday, drive all the way from Glasgow to Liverpool to see a Hi5 show. Upon arriving at the first Travelodge, Kt toddling in in her slipers and me with a bucket of popcorn, we are told that the one we're after is close but we'll find it because we're Scottish.

So off we drive again and succesfuly locate our cheap hotel where the receptionist decides we're two years old and nannies us in such a fashion that we are tempted to complain. On the fun little complaint leaflets left by our pillows.

Off we go again, heading to show show full of excitment as to what two year olds and their parents will make of us happily dancing along and hoping no security notice the gaping hole Kt has cut in her handbag for her camera to poke through.

Except it doesn't go as smoothly as we hoped. We get lost for half an hour, eventually making it to the centre and start to look for parking. Following a parking sign we trundle along and eventually have to park outside a shop to scour the map to find where we are.

Wales.

Following parking signs has brought us to another country. No wonder there was a toll both....

So off we toddle back, to get lost for five hours. I'm not joking. During this time we eventually drive by the theatre as they are packing up after the show.

Coming back to the nasty smelling Travelodge, we realise we're hungry. But their restaurant is fully booked. So is the nearby Pizza Hut. And ASDA is closed because it's a bank holiday. The only place we can find is a chip shop so greasy I almost drowned breathing in.

We spent the night eating greasy chips, watching the Matrix and sleeping on our hard, funny smelling matresses wondering whether we'd catch rabies if we drank from the cups.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:49, 1 reply)
Alcudia, Majorca
Never again. Full of drunken lager louts and twatty timeshare touts. To whom we pretended we spoke no English. For fourteen days.

Anyhoo, if you're ever daft (or daring) enough to venture there, avoid at all costs the dump that is "The Bellevue Holiday Village". Chav central, but with sunshine and mosquitoes! Used as a racetrack at night by the local teens. Right by some stagnant water (hence lots of mosquitoes) and with a thriving rat population.

The beds, ah the beds. Now I'm not big. I'm not heavy. But when I lay down in the bed my arse was nearly on the floor. Even my (then) toddler made the bed dip alarmingly. We arrived very late at night and didn't appreciate quite what a shit-hole this place was until the following day. When dawn woke us early 'cos the curtains weren't very thick. Mind you, the sore backs would have had us out of bed pretty sharpish anyway.

First order of business - find the rep. A whole new sport in that place, believe me. We spoke to a couple who'd been there a whole fortnight and hadn't seen hide nor hair of a rep. I spotted a phone number on their notice board and used the trusty mobile to demand that the rep appear forthwith.

Three hours later, a spotty wee oik on a moped puts in a very grudging appearance. We demanded a room with beds that wouldn't cause curvature of the spine, and at least had a clean floor. Nothing doing, the whole place is full up. Move us to another hotel? Nope, this is the only one we book into in Alcudia. Fly home? Only if you book and pay for your own flights. By the time I'd finished haranguing the wee lad, a queue had built up of extremely upset customers. We heard later that he'd been there for over four hours as word of his presence got around. I think its safe to say that no-one wanted to tell him what a grand time they were having.

There were a few lighter moments - one wee chavette came out of the pool with green highlights and didn't know until someone pointed it out a while later. She then yelled at her boyfriend for not telling her and disappeared, never to be seen again in daylight. A bloke who had one of those big "sovvy" rings on every finger discovered that some of them weren't gold when they started to turn his fingers green. Not a happy bunny!

At the end of the two weeks, I was never so glad to see a coach going to the airport in all my life. I could quite happily have kissed the tarmac at Edinburgh airport as well. But it looked a bit dirty, so I didn't.

A long exchange of letters between me and the tour company followed, at the end of which (after I threatened court action) we got some cash compensation.

Length? Fourteen long, uncomfortable nights!
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:46, Reply)
If a hotel in London is cheap, there is usually a reason
I don’t know about crappy, but definitely a bit shonky.

A few years back, me and the ex decided on a break to That There London. Having done a bit of interweb wizzardry, we identified what seemed like a reasonable hotel, not too far from Paddington Station. About £40 a night, bed and breakfast. “We’ll ‘ave that”, says us, and duly book up.

Hmm. £40 a night. For a hotel in the big smoke. Now that I think about it…

I’m sure that most of the rooms were fine, it’s just that ours was a bit small. Huge double bed, which to get round you had to flatten yourself against the wall and shuffle like a cartoon jail breaker. One tiny wardrobe that an outfit change for Barbie and Ken would have rendered full. A bathroom that was nothing more than a pre-fabricated plastic shell bolted into one corner of the room, with a slight gradient to one corner that allowed the shower water to drain away.

Worst part though was that the room was actually in the basement, so we had no natural light. On top of that, the hotel was situated directly above the Circle & District lines, so the room shook about every two minutes while the trains were running. Sleep was achieved between the hours of 2 and 5am. Sightseeing was achieved through an incredible act of will and lots of coffee.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:45, Reply)
My Best Friend
First time I was invited for supper to my best friend's house, my mom asked his mom after "What did you have?" "Spaghetti," she said. Oh no, because back then I ate spaghetti sauceless with my hands.

First time I spent the night, they watched Ghostbusters and I freaked out in the hotel scene and ran home.

First time I successfully stayed overnight, they told me "If you want to eat, you have to work." So I spent an hour with my best friend washing dishes to ensure I'd eat breakfast the next morning. Breakfast the next morning? A microwave pancake. Didn't know they even made those. Disgusting.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:39, Reply)
Bath ski-ing - a new Urban sport
Six or so years ago, Mrs Osok made a very silly decision and said "I Will" and chained herself in a very legally binding way to the ugly bloke in a kilt who coincidentally happened to be standing next to her looking quite frankly terrified.

Hanyway, we were originally off to somewhere in Johnny-Foreigner-Land for the nuptials, but thanks to a minor airliner/skyscraper interface in the US the flights were all to cock. So we decided that we were off to bonny Jockland, to a wee 'retreat' hotel. No kids, double baths, view over the loch, charming hosts, lovely food, and no kids. Now that hotel was 100% as advertised, superb and wonderful and if it wasn't for the inconvenient rugrats then I'd go back like a shot.

However, I had decided to drive up rather than fly and hire a tin box. No probs. Rather late on in the planning, I was informed that She Who Must Be Ignored would rather overnight on the way up so we could have brekkie with the hideous remains of our guestlist from the night before, and have a nice amble Northwards.

And what could I book at short notice? A TravelHell sorry Lodge. All is not lost, they're OK really, it's only for one night etc.

Check in, allegedly a sesh of studly magnificence occurred to make up for the passing out in a drooling heap the night before.

My dear lady wife then decides it's shower time. Off she trots, splishy splashy.....and then a sound I can only descibe as "SkweeeekThudFUCKFUCKFUCK".

I don't know what they used to clean their baths after Dazza the photocopier salesman and Sloppy Sally from Sales have been in residence, but it turns baths into completely frictionless surfaces. Causing my moist, fragrant beloved to adopt the manoevre known vulgarly as "arse over tit".

This caused much rib-bruising, mostly when I noticed that she'd put the bathmat (that'd be the rubber thing to stop you slipping that they had a sign up about using OR ELSE YOU DIE) on the bathroom floor, took the piss, and was promptly punched. Repeatedly.

I think no more of this Incident of Random Blondeness, and we head off to our week of much bouncy-bouncy lurrve, a bit of hillwalking, distillery tours, and getting lost on the West Highland Way. Which is impossible.

Upon our return, she's still complaining, and nips to the scab-lifter. To discover two fractured ribs. Hard Lass Wor Lass or What?

(Of course everyone thought I was a wifebeating scumbag, but hey)
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:37, 3 replies)
A picture-related story
On a cross-country tour of South Korea, we all stopped off at a primitive complex outside Gyungju City. I got way too drunk on horrible free Budweiser beer, the one beer that you would henceforth have to pay me to drink, and we spent the night.

In the morning, I woke up and found our resident black chick checking out the sex toy vending machine. Oh, I'm sorry, did you not read this right? Sex toy vending machine. Look.

www.daehanmindecline.com/archive/20060430quadstobusan/70.JPG
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:36, 4 replies)
My ex's house!
Men are typically untidy, our house is usually a mess. But never in all my days have I seen anything as bad as my ex's house in Peterborough.

There used to be a carpet in the living room, it was black with crap, fags, booze and food that had been constantly walked into it.

The incontinent dog happily pissed and crapped where it pleased, including the chairs and sofas. The kitchen hadn't seen any sort of cleaning product since the dawn of time and food was left the the carrier bags it was bought in.

I caught fleas and nits from that house, and I always left feeling very very sick. I was sure they had rats, insects and christ only knows what else.

Aggy and Kims wet dream? Nah, I think that may have broken them.

WOOT first page!
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:36, Reply)
An old friend's granddad's london flat.
It had a loo (that didn't flush), a living room/ bedroom and a kitchen. He never used it, really.

One night, we got about twenty people sleeping in it. I was sleeping in the kitchen, on the floor, next to my then-not-but-soon-to-be-boyfriend (big mistake) and about four other people.

One of which was asleep in the cupboard.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:34, Reply)
China
We arrived in Fujhou expecting to book into a multi-star hotel but my "helper" insisted that he could get us free accomodation and good hospitality. It turned out to be the barracks in a naval base.

The room was shocking. The carpet looked decades old, was crunchy underfoot, full of cigarette burns and was stained with, well I didn't want to think about it. All the soft furnishings were very crusty.

The bathroom was full of mould and hadn't been cleaned for decades. I showered in a pair of socks.

The bedding was alive. It was jumping with fleas.

Then the music started. The naval band practiced for hours at a time right outside our window. Totally out of tune.

All of these things are the usual that you'd expect with this QOTW but can anyone beat the "gob buckets" that were placed outside every room?

We couldn't work out what these buckets were for but soon found out. As people passed by and the urge to clear their throats became too much, they simply gobbed into the buckets. Loudly.

There began the lessons of my Chinese diplomacy skills. Trying to get the hell out of a situation in China without the host losing face and without me losing my lunch in a projectile fashion.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:33, Reply)
Aw man
Closest to first post ever!

Uh, one time when my family took a vacation to Drumheller, Alberta, we stayed in this awful motel. Our room smelled like a cat had died under the bed and our cousins'/uncle's room had an uneven bed.

Next time we stayed in that city we were in a much nicer hotel. My dad looked out the window and saw the old place and said "That place gives me the willies."

Every time I meet a dude named Willie I freak out and stab a bunch of people.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:33, 1 reply)
Stainspotting
My cousin's stag night was on a Scottish island; we got there late on a Friday night, ready for a fun weekend, and looking forward to the luxury hostel we'd been promised. However, one of the party had gone ahead, and when we met him in the pub he said 'Sorry guys, we're not staying *there*!' Turns out he'd visited said hostel, and been introduced to the guy running it, who had introduced himself by dropping his trousers, snorting a line and then also introduced his mate, who had (for some crazy reason) no eyelids...it didn't promise to be a pleasant stay.

We decided the pub itself was a better bet, and negotiated with the landlady; sadly it was being refurbished, so the rooms either had no door, or no lightbulb, or no sink, or no bedclothes...still, at least it wasn't run by Begbie's mate. When we got up the next morning we went to the kitchen for some promised breakfast, only to discover the fridge contained rotten food and off milk, and decided to eat out....as we left that morning, we noticed the front of the building was held up by acro props.

As it turned out, all this made for an interesting start to the stag night, and no-one minded that much (we were far too trollied)...we only stayed one more night and then headed back to the mainland.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:33, 1 reply)
Money grubbing bastards
On my last great travel adventure, I ended up in the heat of Bangkok after what felt like a lifetime in the air. At the airport there was the usual smattering of gabbing taxi drivers, and the booths offering hotel/taxi deals. Now, ordinarily, I have the common sense to just wander around and get the accomodation myself. This time however, the sleep deprivation and heat were getting to me, so i succumbed to paying an exorbitant (well, in local money) fee to get to a hotel and get some kip.

So after the taxi drivers death defying route through the streets, I finally arrived at my destination, really ready to sleep.

I was met at the front desk by an extremely slimey little git, who whilst grinning and rubbing his hands together, informed me:

"You need to pay 1000 baht now"
"I've already paid"
"You need to pay more"

This is the closest I've ever come in my life to wanting to beat a stranger to death. And I suspect, had I not been dog tired, I'd now be somewhere in a thai jail. But the guy had me over a barrel, I started to argue, but he knew he'd won, and so did I.

I paid my extra cash, trundled off to my room, and slept like the dead.

But that slimy little cnut's face will live on in my memory as the absolute epitome of greed.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:32, Reply)
Travelodge
Birmingham

Just off junction 3 of the M5.

Two week stay

The Little chef next door got done over twice, and would only let you in to eat after you showed some id and they unlocked the door.

Petrol station next door was on the fiddle, and kept ringing up what I bought for lunch as random newspapers to skip tax, and completely fucked up my VAT receipts when claiming expenses

The KFC 100 yards up the road was the second most scarey place i have ever been to in my life (First? imagine two metalheads walk into a pub in Bangor full of mean pikey looking townies era 1990, and those two types decide to put Exodus - Fabulous Disaster on the jukebox, 2 mins later the two metalheads flee sharpish!!)

The shower was randomly set ¾ of the way up the wall so I had to crouch to fit underneath it.

EVERYTHING stank of stale fags, even the non-smoking areas.

horrible horrible place.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:27, 1 reply)
me and my ex
We booked a lovely apartment in Rhodes a few years back - it was alright apart from the fact we never got Air Con - which all the other apartments did. Being young and naïve we didn’t complain. Instead all we had was a beer fridge - which of a night time would stick a wet towel in, then half way through the night when we were too hot would get out and lie on top of us - the relief from the heat was amazing....

until...

One night I was rat arsed - you know that trick were you put a drunk asleep person's hand into warm water they piss themselves..

I woke that morning with the strange feeling of not needing a wee. Plus the bed was wet, and the towel a little heavier than it was the previous night... luckily it stunk of chlorine from the towel. With a tinge of piss.

I didn’t mention it to my ex. She went quiet though – I reckon she thought it was her. Haha…

the bed was still wet when we left.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:23, 1 reply)
In Washington DC...
...stayed in a hotel near the FBI building (which is apparently supposed to look like a filing cabinet, but looks more like a beige Tricorn centre, but I'm going off on a tangent here). Within the first day there, the sink in the bathroom had come off the wall, and was subsequently attached only by the plumbing, which, due to the angle of it now completely different, was dripping furiously.
It kept dripping throughout the night, keeping me up. Even after putting a towel beneath the drips, it reached saturation point so quickly, it made practically no difference (except that the sound was less echo-y).
Fortunately, the cleaning staff re-attached it the next day, but by the looks of it, made no effort to attach it to the wall better at the start.
Needless to say, that sink was handled very gingerly for the duration of the trip...
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:18, Reply)
Friend's house
Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear. After a heavy night in the pub, I had predictably enough missed the last bus home. "Oh cock" thought I, as I imagined the thought of trudging home to Deepcar from the centre of Sheffield. Then, a friend piped up, offering crash space. "Oh brilliant" thought I, "I won't have to walk several miles home".

And so there we were, chatting on the way to his place. And then, he opened the door. It was as though Foul Ole Ron had moved in long ago, and brought his Smell with him. And then, as my sense of "Oh brilliant" shrivelled like a horny male member suddenly thinking of his mother, I saw The Mess.

It was beyond grim. "How Clean Is Your House" wouldn't have made a dent on this place. It was so bad, Mr Trebus would have been either proud, or disgusted. I err towards the latter. It was at this point I was presented with what was to be my bed for the night- in the "cleanest" room of the house.

An old red futon, with an interesting patina to it. It was shiny. Fabric isn't supposed to be shiny. Concealing my disgust quite well, I thanked my housemate for the night for the crash space, and crashed out.

So, I awoke in the morning, looked around at the mess, and quickly checked my kidneys to make sure they were still there. Thankfully, they were, and still are. I left, swearing never to miss the last bus again.

/Edit

I should clarify at this point it was not a b3tan's house. Woodside Industries, Prof Kenny Martin and Jessie, along with the Hoodbutters, your places are lovely. This was... Satan's Toilet.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:17, 2 replies)
continental breakfast
is just a cheap way to say - make your own breakfast.

I hate that.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:16, Reply)
New York fleapit
Last year I took a cheap room in New York for a economy holiday with a mate.

The room we were given was a tiny shithole where you didn't have room to swing a mouse and that had a bathroom with a mould-encrusted shower that you could hear dripping from out in the hall.

We had it changed for something better. Still not 4 star luxury but we didn't have to worry about something growing on us when either of us had a shower.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:14, Reply)
Well!
If anyone had bothered to stay at mine last Saturday, maybe I'd have been mentioned on this bloody qotw!
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:11, 3 replies)
the helltell
So, you pick a hostel in Dublin.

Things you don't expect to happen:

Being turfed out after a few hours kip for 'cleaning' (at 5:30am).
Being nearly raped by some drunk European type, and having to contact the garda. Twice.
Having your things pilfered by said European types and having to contact the garda again.

All the while, we were chucked for being 'drunken idiots' because we couldn't cope being in such a shithole.

Gah.

edit: almost 2nd!
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:07, Reply)
Belgium, Weird Place Just Outside Antwerp (Bronze!)
Landlady was definitely being fucked by her alsatian.

Still stole the towels though.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:07, 1 reply)
Edinburgh
Nothing wrong with the hotel, lovely bed, toasty warm and decent TV.

I went out to meet some friends and after a quality night on the pop at Berties - In for a fiver all drinks 50p - I get back to my salubrious hotel at 4am in sub-zero temperatures,
looking forward to crawling into a double bed with the heating on max.
Except the bastards had locked the doors.

Ended up sleeping in my car outside.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:06, Reply)
The Black Horse...
first!

and this is my first 'first'!!

Woo and yay!

anyhoo...



I happened to mention on one of my previous posts that my band often plays at a pub run by 3 Indian midgets – affectionately known as ‘Snap, Crackle and Pop’ – and that these guys were decent blokes.

By New Year’s Day 2008, I realised that I had been lying to you all.

First of all – there are four of them – Two of whom are identical midget twins and I never saw them in the same room at the same time...easy mistake to make.

Secondly, they are collectively the most evil, money grabbing, tightwad filth-ridden scum sucking bunch of cuntbuckets it has ever been my misfortune to happen across.

They run a pub called the Black Horse in a little village near us. Now it’s one of those gaffs that has abandoned its ‘village pub’ principles and decided to descent into the putrid pure profitability of becoming a curry restaurant…with a bit of a pub attached. (There’s no money in keeping the locals happy apparently).

They’ve been running this pub for about a year or so now and it’s quite a big place. Also, as nobody lives there as Landlord anymore they had apparently decided to make the upstairs section into a sort of B&B.

Here’s where we come in.

Our band’s usual New Year’s Eve gig cancelled on us (you’d understand why if you heard us) and we were stuck for somewhere to play on what is usually one of the biggest moneyspinners of the year, so we decided to let the Black Horse in on the opportunity to snap us up before another pub did.

And snap us up they did.

My suspicions that they did not quite understand the concept of Christmas and New year were first aroused as they flicked through their diary to enter the booking and asked when Boxing Day was?, and what it meant…but I digress…surely everybody knows what New years Eve is all about??

The negotiations for the gig were excruciating. Every detail was argued about to the nth degree so they could get us and everything as cheaply as possible. We left there satisfied though, because on top of the fee ( the lowest ever – half what we got last year) they had agreed to:

Free beer all day and night for the band
A 3 course meal for the band
A night’s free accommodation in the B&B.

This ticked all the boxes for us, and we promptly signed up.

As we were due to leave for the gig, I received a call from another pub, saying they had been let down and that we could ‘name our price’ to blow the Black Horse out and play there instead.

Like a total fucking spacker – I remained loyal and told them to “shove it”. That act alone, as you will discover, would qualify under the ‘Dumb things I’ve done’ QOTW. To quote Cher – ‘If I could turn back time’, I would happily sacrifice both testes and a kidney to be able to bite the bastard’s hand off when he made his offer.

But I didn’t…and we went to the Black Horse.

When we turned up there was nobody there to see the band. The pub hadn’t advertised or even put posters up saying we were playing, obviously assuming that the local’s crystal balls would provide enough information of our impending performance. When questioned on this, they said that they “didn’t realise New Year’s Eve was an important night”

“What the fucking fuck? Where the hell do you have to come from to not understand that New Years Eve is Important?” I gently enquired.

This angered the pint-sized twunts…and to be fair, an angry Indian midget is pretty funny to watch…imagine an Oompa Loompa finding you in bed with his wife. But the deal started to turn sour from then on.

“No free beer” they barked as they charged us their usual exorbitant price for their watered down pissy cider. “You only get free drinks when you’re playing”. This turned into ONE FREE PINT EACH ALL COCKING NIGHT – the rest we had to pay for.

I started to suspect that they were going to try everything in their despicable power to try and renege on the terms of the gig. Little did I know what was to come…We.were.proper.fucked.

Fortunately, the restaurant was heaving with revellers (feel free to come back to this part after you’ve finished reading the post), and as they spilled out, they realised that there was a band on and stuck around to party.

So we started, it went pretty well and ended at about 1:30am, which to be honest was a little earlier than I thought it would, and despite their tightwaddedness I still managed to get nicely squiffy and everybody seemed to get arseholed and enjoy themselves.

The gig ended, and then the owners decided to started negotiations…again.

“We can’t afford to pay you” They bleated
“You fucking well can!” We retorted.

This continued for some time getting ever pettier, as they haggled and raised their offer in £10 instalments.

Now I’m not a violent person, but when talks stalled on HALF the agreed amount, I threatened to rip the till out of the wall, smack it over the owner’s twatty head and take the contents for myself (of the till that is, not the twatty head).

At this point he suddenly remembered he had the full amount. In his pocket. Funny that. What a cunt.

It was now time for the ‘3 course meal’…’Better late than never’ we thought…but our anticipation turned to horror and then despair as we were presented with….

3 poppadoms….small poppadoms. One fucking poppadom each.

mmmf

By now I was past caring and asked to be shown to my room. The three of us were presented with a bottle of Indian lager each (which was cack) and then we were pushed upstairs. As we entered the ‘living quarters’ the door was closed behind us…and LOCKED. They then left.

We were trapped there. It appears that they couldn’t trust us to have access to the pub without them present and so our lives and safety in the event of fire etc was considered by them to be of miniscule importance compared to the huge and tragic loss of somebody possibly blagging a free pint.

Now this, in case you’re wondering, is where the relevance to the QOTW really kicks in. We had access to 3 small rooms – a kitchen area, bathroom and bedroom.

I’d heard about those hovels where they hide asylum seekers away to turn them into sex slaves – well, if this was one of those, I’m not surprised the poor fuckers climbed back into whichever lorry they sneaked out of and knacked off back to their own country.

If you look up the word ‘shithole’ in the dictionary…there is no definition…just a picture of this place.

There was no furniture except for three bare, broken beds with no bedding or pillows. The mattresses were so filthy and covered in suspect stains that I’m convinced they were picked up the previous day from the rubbish skips of the local incontinence ward. There were flies, woodlice and other insects I can’t even bear thinking about roaming the place. The carpet was blue – at least I think it was blue, from what I could tell it must have previously been the venue of the ‘Who can defecate and puke over the floor the most’ world championships. There were no curtains and grime was crawling up the half painted walls

The smell was intolerable, and as we looked around the place to find somewhere remotely hygienic to sleep we discovered that the smell came from half eaten food that had been left in the fridge….from the previous owners…OVER A YEAR BEFORE. Clutching my bottle of rank lager, I physically retched as I entered the kitchen and stepped over the piles of smashed chairs. It was like being whumped in the face by a sledghammer of stink

The building should have been condemned for the bathroom alone. The plaster had come off the walls, the bath was chipped and broken and had green residue covering the bottom. The mould surrounded you, and for some reason there were dozens of toilet rolls. Not in packets, just strewn about all over the mushy floor.

And then there was the toilet. Oh yes. Think of the one out of Trainspotting crossed with the portaloos from Glastonbury during a dysentery epidemic and you’d come close. Like a rainbow of splattered mucus following detonation of an expertly placed gorilla turd bomb.

Bizarrely, next to the toilet was a toothbrush….Who would stick around to clean their teeth in that place is anyone’s guess.

I should mention here that all of these rooms….were directly above the RESTAURANT. I shudder to think what their kitchen downstairs is like.

We were trapped in there until 2:30 the following afternoon because the owners ‘forgot’ we were in there(!) and then kept making excuses as we relentlessly called and threatened to kick the door down.

As we were finally released and able to breathe again, they poured out a pint for each of us (without asking), then charged us for them. We were then thanked for our efforts the previous night, and promptly told that we had to get out…immediately. With this, two of the midget’s larger friends started lifting our equipment and throwing it outside by the front door.

Finally, they took our drinks out of our hands, put them on a garden table outside, locked the pub up again and drove off, papping the horn and waving as they drove off leaving us in total shock.

I tell you, I’m really considering not playing there again.

Apologies for length, and delay… but as you can no doubt tell, the wounds are still fresh.
(, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 17:05, 10 replies)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 4, 3, 2, 1