Confessions from a Hotel. Timothy Lea

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      ‘We haven’t passed it, have we?’ says Sid anxiously.

      ‘Looks as if somebody else has.’ Sid follows my gaze and his jaw drops faster than a pair of lead knickers.

      ‘Blimey. I see what you mean. Looks more like the Zomby than the Cromby.’

      Most of the buildings along the front have been tarted up and painted fashionable shades of pink, lemon and blue but the Cromby is peeling like an eight-hour suntan and looks as if it was last painted in order to camouflage it during Zeppelin raids. Even the glass sign is cracked.

      ‘Nice going, Sid,’ I say. ‘You struck a shrewd bargain there. He didn’t throw in London Bridge as well, did he? If he did you were done because we’ve sold it to the Yanks.’

      ‘Shut up!’

      ‘I like the situation, too. I didn’t know they had bomb sites down here. Maybe it’s part of a slum clearance scheme.’

      ‘I said “shut up”. I’m thinking.’

      ‘Thinking about how long it will take us to get back to London, I hope. If you rang up Sir Giles from the News of the People offices he might give you your money back.’

      ‘Don’t be so blooming hasty. It’s right on the beach.’

      ‘On the shingle, Sid. Looks like they get a lot of oil tankers around here, too. And what’s that big culvert coming out in the middle of the beach? Niffs a bit, doesn’t it?’

      ‘Oh, belt up, you’re always moaning. You never take a chance, that’s your trouble. If it wasn’t for me you’d be working on a bloody building site.’

      ‘If I nicked a few bricks we might be able to do something with this place.’

      ‘Very funny. You’re a right little ray of sunshine, aren’t you? Come on, let’s take a look at it. We’ve got nothing to lose.’

      ‘Don’t talk too soon. Do they know you’re coming?’

      ‘No, I thought it would be favourite to turn up as if we were ordinary guests. That way we’ll get the real feel of the place.’

      ‘Good thinking, Sid. Trouble is I reckon I’ve got the feeling of the place without even going through the doors.’

      Sid does not say anything but puts his foot down so hard that I am practically on the back seat as we skid to a halt outside the hotel. Sid waits for a moment, presumably to see if anybody comes out to greet us, and then opens the door of the car.

      ‘Right. That’s one thing you’re going to be able to do something about,’ he says.

      ‘Whadyermean, Sid? You reckon me for a blooming commissionaire or something?’

      ‘We’ve all got to play a part,’ he says. ‘No skiving about at the beginning.’

      Marvellous, isn’t it? And I thought I was going to start moving up a few rungs. We go through the swing doors and I practically have to hang on to Sid’s coat tails it is so dark. Like the Chamber of Horrors only with less character.

      ‘Very restrained, isn’t it?’ I say.

      ‘Shut up.’

      The reception area is deserted and I will swear there are cobwebs on the register. Pinned above the desk is a poster stating the films that are on at the Roxie. I remember passing the Roxie on the way to the hotel. It is now a Bingo Hall.

      ‘Perhaps we could take a leaf out of Sir Giles’s book and run holidays for those in love with the past,’ I say. ‘How about starting off with the Norman invasion?’

      ‘One of the first things I’m going to miss about you is your marvellous sense of humour,’ says Sid. ‘Now get some service around here before I do my nut.’

      I have bashed the bell about three times and am wondering whether the grey stuff on top of the elk’s head is dust or dandruff, when an oldish bird with a black dress and matching cardigan comes up some stairs beside the reception. She has thin wispy hair and a twisted jaw that looks as if it has been left out in the rain and got warped. Round her neck is a gold chain to which are attached a pair of specs.

      ‘I’m not deaf,’ she says irritably. ‘I’m not deaf.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘We would like to book a room.’

      ‘You what?’

      ‘We would like to book a room!’ The tone of Sid’s voice betrays the fact that the Cromby is appearing less of a gold mine than it did a few hours previously. The old bag shuts her book.

      ‘I’ve told you once,’ she says. ‘I’m not deaf. There’s no need to shout like that.’

      Sidney makes a big effort and controls himself. ‘Is it possible for my friend and myself to book a double room–with single beds?’

      ‘What? You’ll have to speak up. You’re whispering. What is it you want?’

      ‘I’d like an axe,’ grits Sid.

      ‘What do you want an axe for? Have you come to chop wood? You should have gone round the back.’

      ‘Give me strength,’ says Sid, turning away.

      ‘What does he want strength for?’ says the elderly nut. ‘Has he come to chop wood or not? I can’t stand temperament. Especially about a little thing like that. Young people today have no staying power.’

      ‘We would like to book a room.’

      ‘You what?’

      ‘Forget it,’ says Sid. ‘I can’t understand why I ever thought it was a good idea in the first place. Let’s have a bash at the pier and go home.’

      ‘You want some rooms,’ says the old bag. ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’

      ‘It never occurred to me to ask,’ I say, revealing once again my aptitude for the lowest form of humour.

      ‘We would like our room with two single beds,’ says Sid, pronouncing each word like one of those birds on Parlez-vous francais?.

      ‘Oh?’ Madam looks us up and down and it suddenly occurs to me that she thinks we are a couple of poofters. The very idea!

      ‘He’s my brother,’ says Sid.

      ‘Oh, well I suppose that’s alright.’ She does not sound very convinced. ‘Do you want a bathroom?’

      ‘No thanks,’ says Sid. ‘The sight of him naked might inflame my fevered imagination to the point where the floodgates burst and I be carried away in a maelstrom of primitive lust.’

      ‘Just a basin, then?’

      ‘That should prove very adequate. What time is supper?’

      ‘Dinner,’ СКАЧАТЬ