I’ve just been talking to my mum on the phone. She’s coming later on to help us celebrate Tallulah’s birthday, but we like to talk every day (usually several times a day) anyway. Tomorrow she’s going off to the depths of Norfolk to do an antiques fair. I think she is very brave. I am allergic to Norfolk. It managed to knock Lincolnshire (sorry Dotterel) off my list of least favourite English counties several summers ago. So rather her than me.
Usually they stay in a Travel Lodge. Not because they particularly love them, but they are cheap, clean and usually very convenient. Typically there are none in the area of Norfolk they are going to, and they have been reduced to staying in a bed and breakfast. I also commiserated with her over that.
Now some bed and breakfast accommodation is lovely, truly lovely. But it remains my contention that a great deal of it is truly terrible. It seems to bring out the eccentricities of the British character like nothing else. Even in these interior design enlightened times you can still find candlewick bedspreads, avocado bathroom suites with crinolined, crocheted dolls hiding peach tone toilet roll and other such delights.
I once stayed in a bed and breakfast emporium in York where the woman who owned it was obviously a huge fan of the classical world. The entire, three storey Victorian dwelling was bedecked with three foot high plaster effigies of Greek and Roman goddesses and the like. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they weren’t set against a background of giant overblown rose patterned wallpaper with gold dado rail and cornicing. Trying to get up and downstairs without being either knocked down by Aphrodite or overwhelmed by giant cabbage roses was a feat.
Apparently the lady who owns the bed and breakfast that mum and dad are staying in, rang to say that she had ‘forgotten’ to mention that they have to share a bathroom with the other guests. Not only that, but if they do not arrive between 3.00 p.m. and 4.00 p.m. sharp they will have to lounge about on the lawn until she gets back from her evening meeting at 7.30 p.m. because there won’t be anyone else to let them in and she leads a very busy life. Another reason I’m not keen on this type of accommodation. If I’m paying to stay in a room I expect to be able to get in it. I don’t think that’s too unreasonable.
We were chatting about this and other bed and breakfast related traumas when we got onto the subject of pot pourri. Like candlewick bedspreads it is something which is now no longer in fashion, but which seems to linger amongst the bed and breakfast population like the bad smell it so often is. Give me a nice lavender bag any day, but those awful bowls of chemically dyed wood shavings that smell worse than Febreze mixed with a healthy dose of cat wee, really turns my stomach.
It reminded me of a wonderful story a friend told me years ago. She and some family members had been invited to a drinks party at the extremely chic mansion of a wealthy family that a member of their family was marrying into. It was one of those get to know each other type things, presumably to break the ice before the wedding. My friend’s uncle, who had also been invited, was a practicing alcoholic and therefore rather unpredictable in his behaviour. He arrived to this drinks party already the worse for wear. He plonked himself down on a sofa next to an occasional table, and as the conversation flowed he proceeded to eat an entire bowl of pot pourri which had been sitting on the table next to him. He then asked for a drink, citing a dry throat and uttering the immortal line: ‘I don’t think much to your snacks.’
I wonder whether it helped to break the ice, or increased the froideur?
What flavour were they?
Oh, and I’ll get over it. Eventually. Your dissing Lincolnshire, that is. And Lincolnshire itself. It’s not my favourite county either, and I live here.
Hey, why aren’t you on twitter?
LOL. My Mum still has a crocheted toilet roll doll from the 1970′s when she used to make loads of them for school fairs etc. Lincolnshire isnt too bad if you dont have too higher expectations its good for a quiet stress free life anyway
Sounds like a very unwelcoming B&B! Pot pourri and crinoline ladies guarding the loo rolls may be the least of the undesirable features!
Dotterel
Probably gin flavoured by the time he got to them. Am weirdly frightened of being on twitter. Stupid eh?
Jennysnail
The bit near the wolds is nice. I like that bit.
Sharon
you’re telling me.
some of my best travel experiences have involved b&bs… the one we stay in in Stratford-on-Avon is a wonder of comfort, cleanliness and gourmet breakfasts. and the people who run it have become dear friends of ours. i stayed with a woman in edinburgh years ago who i kept in touch with for many years and who called me when she was in new york visiting one year… one in ireland actually washed, dryed and ironed my clothes — giving me tea and scones — the late afternoon i came back soaking wet from the cliffs of moher. and another in galway where the gentleman of the house ran out to buy a bunch of bananas because i inquired if there were any. every day thereafter there was a banana on my plate.
on the other hand, there have been a few where the place has been freezing at night, the juice and breakfast doled out like they were diamonds, and the people cold and unfriendly even if they managed to be around.
i do sometimes prefer a hotel where i’m not required to get up and out by a certain time … but sometimes if not for the rule, i’d sleep half the day away. so it’s all a chance thing, but on the whole, i do like a b&b.
i wish your mum and dad good luck.
Bronxbee
It turned out alright in the end. No candlewick. Although the bathroom is shared there is nobody else there, and the breakfasts are up to snuff. All good. Phew.