HOTEL DU BLACK

I thought the London hotel was the worst I’d ever been in but this Glasgow one takes the biscuit. I’m not even going to name it, because there are libel laws and I don’t want to fall foul of those. After all, I’m not the News of the World. It looked fine on the internet – a thumbnail picture of a modern building on seven floors with a wavy roof that might have been anything from a conference centre to a manufactory of silicone chips. From close up, however, it turned out to be a low-grade sewer. My room was more a walk-in cupboard. The smoke alarm had gone missing, and the ends of the electric wires were taped over with gaffer tape. A large stain was apparent on the ceiling, just above the sprinkler mechanism, which looked like an old-fashioned gas pipe. The shower was a curved affair which encroached heavily onto the toilet. It was a clever concept, being able to have a shower whilst seated on the john, an economy of effort that is admirable in these busy times, but I found it extremely off-putting. The easy chair was made out of hard polypropylene, stuff that is more at home in the classroom. The management mustn’t have trusted the clientele too much, because they had screwed the 14 inch television to the desk. I saw some of the clientele later whilst out for a short stroll. Every one of them looked as shifty and saturnine as Beelzebub himself, and I was glad I’d taken the precaution of padlocking my wallet into my case and placing the case out of sight under the bed, amongst the fluff and rats' droppings. The sink in the bathroom didn’t run to a plug, so, in order to get washed, I had to stuff a wad of toilet-paper into the plug-hole and scoosh my face quickly, before the water drained away. There was no refrigerator, so I had to keep my juice bottle on the outside window-shelf, where it was frequently attacked by jackdaws. The bedclothes smelt of alpaca’s breath, and the pillows were filled with rocks. I wasn’t helped by the weather, which was gloomy in the extreme. Rain pelted down like sweat beads and the humidity was so bad my glasses misted up from the inside. At three in the morning, one of the clientele, out in the courtyard, started arguing with another, in a language that might have been Turkish, or Armenian, of Azerbijani for all I knew. It might have even ended up with a curved dagger in the ribs, I know not. It woke me up, and I stayed awake, sweltering with alpaca breath assailing my nostrils. I am feeling the effects of that right now. However, I am my own worst enemy – I chose the hotel on price, something one should never do. Trouble is, I have to spend another night there before I thankfully shuffle off back home to dear old Haddington for the rest of the week. I have invested in Tesco’s deodorant, a few sticks of incense and an insect-repellent candle, so that might improve things, but I’d better watch the candle, unless they’ve fitted a new smoke alarm today, as I’d hate to burn the whole place down. On second thoughts, though.....