Episode 22: It's so nice to go trav´ling

Still no sign of a winning
lottery ticket!

So, having managed to work ourselves into the ground and with the promise of loads more students coming when we get back from the Easter break, the lovely Jose and I have taken a little holiday of our own. We can't afford it and it's all thanks to Mr. Mastercard and his girlfriend, Lisa Visa that we're here at all, but with petrol paid for and groceries bought, we have settled into life in a rather exclusive villa near Alicante. Of course, you might know that poor as we are, I wouldn't settle for any old crapola and this is certainly not that; but more on our luxurious surroundings at another time.

Dear Floella! I still remember our last
conversation. I accidentally stood on her
foot whilst queueing for crudités and
she said "Get off me you fat bastard".
Oh how we laughed about that

We decided that we would try and fly down south as the last trip by car was a long one and we'd already done enough working as it was. After a short look at the internet, mainly with eyes wide and mouth agog, (or was it the other way round.......I never did truly find out about agog) we decided that we would drive. I mean, what is so bad about the car after all? Let's face it, airports are vile places full of vile people with their vile offspring, travelling to vile places; like Benidorm for example. They get stressed, they shout a lot, they argue, they get angry and threaten to punch you when you stare at them for wearing three inch platform heels with blue socks and a micro skirt.......which I still maintain wasn't a good look for José. You see, some years ago I used to work for a medical repatriation company and that rather spoiled flying for me. What used to happen was that, should you or some other common member of the public break something whilst on holiday, like a nail or a hotel vase, if you needed a nurse to escort you home due to either airline regulations or medication recommendation, then people like me would be sent out to fetch you back. The thing is, I only worked for the company I did because they sent me (nearly) everywhere in Business Class. After 10 years, I became rather used to exclusive lounges and sharing nibbles with Floella Benjamin before nipping to New York or flying to Philadelphia. Compare that with the exchange on the flight we took to Florida last year. Jammed in the centre aisle of Proletariat Class on a Virgin flight out of Manchester, we were inadvertently thrust into the midst of a group of middle aged Mancunians and the fruit of their Lidl washed loins. Dinner had been served and cleared away when Donna stood up and shouted - in the broadest Manchester accent this side of Weatherfield......

"Kelly! Kelly? A'Y'orriiiight??" which to the trained Business Class ear means, 'Kelly, are you settling into the flight and quite happy at the moment?'

Now Kelly, who was sitting three rows in front of the lovely Donna stood up, turned back and shouted......"Yeah, aaaahm orriiight", all glottal stops and strangulated vowels, with the overhead cabin lighting glinting off her security tag. Two seconds later, with Kelly having sat back down......

Flaky pastry......very like
dandruff, apparently.

"Kelly! Kelly? D'ya wanna sausage roll", as Donna waved said pastry snack around the cabin, scattering flaky delights everywhere. Still, it gave the man in 33C with the terminal dandruff a little cover for a while as he could blame Greggs.

Kelly stood up one more time and turned to face back........"Nah aaaahm orriiight ta". Having firmly established for the second time in two minutes that she was alright, Kelly sat back down to watch the in-flight movie whereupon Donna tucked into three sausage rolls with gusto. Donna was already slightly on the larger side and three sausage rolls I thought was pushing it a little. I swear the plane kept banking more to the left after this.

So, we decided to drive once again and in order to make the journey a little more palatable, bought a hotel room online on one of those cheapo last minute online doodahs. As they were cheap, we settled on something a little more exclusive than the description of one hotel, "room, bath, bed......what more could you want?" and went to somewhere that promised individual log cabins, a whirlpool bath, lounge area, buffet breakfast and complete comfort. Their motto should have been "This is Spain, so be grateful 'cos one out of five ain't bad" because yes indeed, we did have our own log cabin. That was where all similarities to the online blurb ended. 

When we arrived there, we were told what number our cabin was and started driving past all these beautiful looking cabins on the way to ours. Gradually we got further and further away from these buildings until we came upon the Crossroads Motel of log cabins, in the wilderness next to a field of sheep who, for some inexplicable reason, were wearing cowbells. Can sheep have identity crises I wondered? <WARNING: flight of fancy coming up>


"Mum, I'm sorry but I've something to tell you that you won't like. I've always known I was different, but.....well......I'm a cow"
"You're a cow??? Have you met your Aunt Bertha? I'm telling ewe, that woman is the bitch-cow from Hell after she had sexy time with your cousin Baaahbara's boyfriend."


Anyway, we opened the door and found no lounge and no whirlpool bath, only two beds and a bathroom with no curtains. When we stood in the shower, the people across the way could see right in. Thankfully for them, there were no people across the way!

Sadly, there was no Amy Tortuga de Agua (or Amy Turtle for you non-Spanish!)

Disappointed, we plugged the computer into the TV and watched The Muppet Movie instead (very funny and well worth it if you're interested). I went for a shower before bed and it was one of those all singing, all dancing jets everywhere affairs. I pushed every conceivable knob going (no rudeness please, I'm typing this on Easter Sunday, the Holiest day of the year!) Well, there were jets flying everywhere including places that jets shouldn't go......although strangely, I did feel like smoking a cigarette afterwards for some reason!!! Anyway, after a couple of minutes of knob twiddling, I decided to do what I'd gone in there for and soaped up. Just as I did so, the water went cold. Very cold! There was nothing for it; I couldn't get the water to go hot again as hard as I tried and so it was a case of gritted teeth and lots of gasping for air as I washed the soap off, which given this body, is no quick process!

Cold Shower. You should see the pictures
I rejected! Phwoooaarrr!

Once back in the other room, I explained all this to the lovely José who tried to run the water for his shower. Cold! Cold, cold, cold! He rang the reception to complain, but the recorded voice on the end of the phone told him that this number was not connected to anywhere, so bugger off. He phoned the concierge; same woman! He phoned the restaurant, the switchboard and in desperation, the local Chinese restaurant (just checking to see if you're still awake!?) - same voice........this number is not connected to anything so tough titty. Every single number we had listed in that room was connected to this zorra ("bitch" - I'm on holiday so it's only essential words this week) who said the same thing each time. Welcome to Spanish customer service!

One sleep later and the fastest shower in the world for José  (yes, it went cold after about three minutes, but he was prepared and didn't twiddle a single knob whilst in there), we drove back up to the main building for our buffet breakfast. We were greeted by an empty room, one barman who looked like he'd lost a euro and found 5000 pesetas…….and no breakfast. Presuming that we would be sent through to another breakfast room, Jose told him our purpose for being there. The reply was

"Si"

A croissant, earlier today

"Si, what?"

"Si, you can have breakfast here......what do you want?" 

"We want a buffet"

"You can have pastries, meat, cheese..........." his voice tailed off through sheer boredom
"Can we see them?"
"They are pastries.......why do you want to see them? It's not a beauty contest!"

"I'd like a croissant please" said the lovely José

"You can't have a croissant because the woman who bakes them has only just arrived and they're not ready" (Honestly, you couldn't make this up!)

"Well, we'll have some pastries thanks and coffee and juice and then we're getting the hell out of this place"

That was it! We sat, miserable at the whole experience we had been looking forward to, eating muffins, drinking coffee and desperate to get on the road for Denia.

Once breakfast was over, José went to leave the cabin key and check out. When he got to the place there was no-one there. After standing around for a moment still no-one came, so he popped the key on the desk, which promptly fell on the floor behind, and left. So, we got in the car and started the 4 hour drive to our lovely temporary home in the mountains for a week. Surely that would be perfect...............?