awity times 1 Torquay
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THE Road Haulage
ssociation really does break ew ground next year and holds s conference on foreign shores, lere could be a few members of le Press who will venture Droad with grave misgivings
about their hotel accommodation. This year's eccentric choice of hotel in Torquay was enough for some.
Previous experience with other associations' problems in Devon had our men prepared to be sub-contracted out, along with most others in quest of a single room, from the Palace Hotel to something smaller and adjacent. That the substitute accommodation was in an establishment called the Gleneagles raised no unrealistic expectations, for our chaps are men enough of the world — or at least of the overnight bag world — to know that they are unlikely to end up in prestigious hotels of that standard.
But this Gleneagles, it turns out from last Monday's The Sun, is none other than the establishment in which John Cleese discovered the real Basil Fawlty, and the inspiration behind his excellent FewIly Towers television comedy series. Cleese insists that the hotel is now run along disappointingly charming lines, but our men wonder if the ghost of the manic Basil has really disappeared.
It started, apparently, when
CM contacted the hotel to let them know our team would be late. "Well, if it's going to be any later than midnight they better phone us. We can't just have people sitting up all night waiting for them," we were told in less than amused tones. One less fortunate than our pair had to spend the night locked out and in his car.
Finding their rooms was another exercise in the unusual. We all know aboJt the hotel with the missing room 13, for luck or the avoidance of bad luck, but this establishment had no rooms of any other number. You don't believe me? I didn't believe them at first, until they explained they all had names. Our pair were bedded in "Rose" and "Primrose", which were next door to one another, and presumably easily located once the code is cracked. Others were in the unlikely "Mimosa", "Magnolia", "Seabreeze" and others. Heaven help the poor occupant of the "Tempest" or "Convolvulus".
Early morning call? Oh, yes it came around 7.30 complete with hot tea and newspaper (initially The Times as one man wanted,
but his had become an
unsolicited Daily Mail by the last day of the conference), but the call itself was superfluous. The main staircase, over which chambermaids and early risers clambered nosily, ran over our reporter's built-in wardrobe.
Unlike some fellow guests, he had a working example of a radio, but would have liked a phone when he needed to contact the office in Sutton. He also would have appreciated a shower that worked reasonably. Oh, it came on, was reasonably hot (others were less fortunate), but it kept going off again when anyone in the vicinity (in a room named after an especially thirsty plant?) drew from the same supply.
Never mind, come the end of the day, and with his copy written and despatched to the office together with trusty photographer, he and a fellow journalist sought sustenance in central Torquay. It was raining, and maybe the hotel could call for a taxi? "Oh, it's raining, sir, and we might have to call a few different taxi firms. You'd be better phoning them yourself from the coin box."
Exit one footsore, halfwashed, half-slept CM reporter. Perhaps if Basil is alive and well in Torquay, Manuel the Spanish waiter will surface in the Mediterranean next summer.