The weekend just past the IMA and I were up in Glasgow and had reason to visit a particular hotel. Along for the entertainment value were 50% of the kids - The Angry Pixie (as she has been dubbed by her elder sister) and TBW.
To give you an idea of the kind of establishment we're speaking about, they had gentlemen on the door. I am quite used to this type of arrangement, but in this case the gentlemen concerned were charged with welcoming people into the hotel and generally being pleasant and helpful, as opposed to the ones I am more used to. They are generally charged with making disparaging comments about your choice of footwear and/or belting you in the mouth for no apparent reason.
In short it was posh.
Very posh.
We were there to meet a very nice chap called John to discuss using their hotel for our wedding. We were shown around various rooms, discussed furniture-moving-about-on-the-day potential and even heard an interesting story about David Beckham. Eventually we retired to the lounge area and set about drinking fancy coffee, eating fancy shortbread biscuits and ironing out some of the detail of our requirements.
The subject of overnight rooms came up and we decided that a separate room for each of the kids was maybe a little extravagant, so sharing was on the cards.
At this point a gentleman who I would best describe as a ringer for The Major from Fawlty Towers came wandering in to the lounge with his wife and they settled themselves down on the large sofa in the bay window. Coffee and toast was served to them. They chatted between themselves in muted, well-to-do tones.
By now TBW has reached the end of his capacity to keep his thoughts to himself. He stated to John, in loud and happy tones, that he doesn't mind sharing with anybody. He points out that he doesn't snore.
I get worried.
He points out that Daddy doesn't snore either.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
"Although," he continues, "Daddy does sometimes trump in bed. It's really loud".
Mrs Thrumpton-Smythe on the sofa in the window dissolved into a fit of giggles, despite her breeding.
I bet the staff have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before Brooklyn Beckham is allowed to chat.
NDC
Ooh I did worry about what he was going to come up with then!!
ReplyDeleteThis reminds me of the time I took my daughter and her friend (when they were both about 6) for a swimming lesson. They had to get changed at the side of the pool and friend (happily charging around starkers) suddenly announced "Hey CQ, My fanny really stinks!" All I could think of to say was "now YOUR MUMMY wouldn't like to hear you say that, would she?" (subtext ='this is NOT my child'...)
ReplyDeleteI've tried to master the muted, well to do tones... but even if I succeed at this I ruin the effect by dribbling the coffee down my chin and dropping butter on my skirt.
ReplyDeleteSome of us were never designed to be posh.
Sx
Libby - I guess it could have been worse. \maybe it was karma kicking my arse for the "I won't drink beer" video.
ReplyDeleteCQ - I would have just run away, laughing hysterically.
SB - Same here (apart from the skirt).