Hotel wifi is shit. I mean really shit. So shit it should come with the screechy wheeeep scrruuurr noises of a dial up modem from 1995. Yes, that shit. Of course I know that it's deliberately shit so that you have to pay £5 to upgrade to the 'ultimate' semi-decent 2010 version, but feck that, I just wasted a fiver by over-tipping a middle aged waiter called Simon for bringing me an illicit caramel apple pie out of hours, so I'm not prepared to waste another.
So, here I sit in a hotel room on the south coast attempting to blog at an approximate speed of one word a day. Don't expect a long one. Today I've got a room overlooking the bay, it's all twinkly water, boats and instagram filters, but as ever with real life, there's a catch. The tide's out and the whole place smells like a badly blocked drain. The business manager in me was just about to report it to the receptionist when I checked in, but just in time I realised it was the bay and not the hotel toilets so I said nothing. But she knew I knew, I knew she knew, but we braved it out and had a brief conversation without breathing in. I'm now safely in my room with the window shut, hoping that the moon, or whatever it is that brings the tides back in again, doesn't let me down.
I'm becoming something of an expert in this solo travelling lark. I now only pack 1 extra emergency outfit, not 7, one small washbag, not every cosmetic I've ever, never used, and a secret stash of hot chocolate sachets to bolster the harsh frugality of the hotel tea facilities. I've also attempted to stash a packet of digestives in the glovebox of the car, just in case, but my daughter found and demolished them, with the same joi de vivre as a springer spaniel let loose on a suitcase full of cocaine.
But hey, I've even got into a bit of a hotel routine. Check in, unpack, phone husband, phone kids, skype dogs, attempt to call dogs names to get them to engage in a 2 way conversation, watch as dogs charge to the front door expecting to find me, then give up as confused dogs wander back to wherever it was they were doing before I interrupted their evening. I did briefly consider skyping one of the cats, but who wants to see the rapidly departing arse of a disgruntled moggie?
I've even mastered the 'table for one' art form, managing to sweep past the queueing families of 4 at the check in desk and gliding swan-like to a small but discreet table in the corner. Sadly the family of 4 followed shortly afterwards; mum, dad and 2 twin girls, and sat at the table next to mine. Northern hipster dad was doing my head in by trying too hard. The fam were stopping over before getting the ferry in the morning - kids were over excited, mum was already shattered from the two weeks of prep to even get to this point, so Dad decided to take on the role of Billy feckin Butlin and act as camp entertainer. He even produced an actual pack of Happy Families playing cards, I mean, he was actually full on living the cliche. I strongly suspect they were operating a 'no phone' holiday policy. I'll give them 24 hours before they cave.
Back in my room and I'm struggling to cope with the limited choice of 4 terrestrial TV channels and have resorted to Twitter and Snapchat as per usual. But the night is poking me in the eye and telling me to make the most of the crisp white pillows, before tomorrow barges in with an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet and another low tide.
Anyway, you've had more than you bargained for already, so I'm off to enjoy. And yes, I paid the £5 and upgraded the feckin wifi. Of course I did. Sucker 🙄.