Stag Night
After my successful stag night in sunny Blackpool at a really good but reasonable seafront hotel a friend of mine decided that he too would spend his last nights of freedom in the mecca of the North. So we all piled into a coach and looked forward to the obscene amount of alcohol that we were going to put away upon our arrival. Unbeknown to us however the best man had decided that £25 a night was a little on the expensive side and through the miracle of T'Interweb has managed to procure us beds in a place that was only a tenner a night. Well we didn't actually expect much for such pitiful amounts of dosh. As long as it was clean and had a roof we were good, but we were still a little shocked when we arrived at the back road doss house that was to be our home for the next two nights. Firstly after trudging down the urine smelling path we were greeted by a Begby from Train spotting lookalike who through clouds of cheap ciggy smoke grudgingly trudged upstairs to show us to our rooms. I was booked into a four berth room with some friends and was a little apprehensive when the door that our psychotic scots friend was showing us too had a massive crack down the middle of it and a hole where the lock should be.
"This is yors..." He drawled as he swung the door open. Now the only way that you could tell the difference between our room and a broom cupboard was that broom cupboards have generally had a cleaning implement inside them at some time in the last ten years. 2 bunk beds were pushed up against one wall and partially obscured the doorway. The rest of the room was a corridor about two feet across with a wardrobe at the end of it, which incidentally was in the way of the only window and the broken sink. The floor was covered in plaster dust from the ceiling and some one had punched holes in the walls so it was possible to see through to next doors identical room. Whats more the bunk beds had so many slats missing or broken that you were in danger of slipping through them.
Never mind horrific though it was we were determined to make the best of it and besides we'd already paid. We'd go to the bar as it would only look better once we'd got around the outside of a couple of shots of liver puncher.
We trailed downstairs and got Begby to stop drinking the bar (many bottles of knocked off spirits) and open it for us. Now at our previous hotel one of the main selling points was that the bar was open all night and charged the princely sum of a quid a pint. Not so here. This flea pit was charging around £3 a pint or shot (this was around 10 years ago when this was extortion).
Anyhow we moped around Blackpool drinking but our heart wasn't in it. The plague pit of a hotel kind of killed it for everyone. None of us stayed for breakfast the next morning when we found Begby had cooked it and had to make do with a Mcbreakfast. I didn't last a second night.

Length? About 5' by 10'
(andythepieman Is surfing the waves of indifference on, Sun 20 Jan 2008, 19:36, Reply)