Dog and all

I recently became Mrs T, very recently- Thursday in fact.  It was the perfect day, the sun was shining, those that were there to celebrate with us were full of support for us- a truly wonderful day.  Mr T looking smart in his posh suit, me in my fancy dress as 'The Queen' as a dear friend's daughter described me! We couldn't have asked for more. As tradition goes, after a wedding comes a honeymoon, so off on honeymoon we went...

We'd booked into a hotel by the name of 'The Royal Court' for a long weekend, this one was dog friendly so along came our companion Mackie, the troublesome chocolate lab.  We were full of excitement for our stay as newlyweds in our 'Executive Suite' with jacuzzi bath- the pictures on the website looked amazing!  We pulled up, lugged our bags in (I may have over packed for a weekend!) and struggled to reception- dog and all.  Happy-chappy on reception checked us in, directed us to our room and off we went lugging heavy bags- dog and all.  5 long corridors, 3 flights of stairs and 3 old couples later- "Oh isn't he adorable!", "She can be, yes, thank you"- we reached our room.

Key in the door- yes an actual key, not a swipe card... bad sign- we stumbled in to find... well, a manky mattress in the middle of a room with decor inspired by a retirement home and a television set that seemed to have survived from the 80's!  Executive suite my arse elbow!  The only saving grace was the jacuzzi bath- it was present as promised in the en suite... if a little yellow and worn.

Back to reception we struggled, back along 5 long corridors, down 3 flights of stairs and passed many more old couples (sensing a theme here?) to reception.  We explained to happy-chappy on reception the situation, how there must be a mistake, this is our honeymoon - pause for congratulations... awkward silence, continue- we had booked an executive suite and this was more 'bargain basement'.  He checks his computer (also from the 80's) and explains that our room is most definitely an executive suite.  After some debate about what defines the room as 'executive' we agree to take a look at another room- the only other vacant room in the hotel that night.  You get the idea- off we trundle around the hotel in search of this other room- dog and all.  We open this door- onto the bed.  The door literally opened onto the bed!  Small?  I had more room to move in my old fiesta!  Back to the 'Executive Suite' we go.

We decide to make the best of it, we set the bath running, unpack a few bits, settle the dog in her bed and head for the bathroom.  We thought we'd found the silver lining, we'll spend the weekend soaking the hours away in the jacuzzi bath!  We turn on the power, prepare to jump in- and the jets shoot out some murky, suspiciously brown crap 'stuff'... not so appealing.  Oh well- a nice walk with the pup around the 'many beautiful acres' described in the brochure.  Or, after checking with happy-chappy, a trudge around the neighbouring football pitch as the rain came down!

To the bar- this can't go wrong... and it didn't.  Until the wedding party spilled out into the main bar with us at which point we decided to retire to bed- it had been a long drive after all.

So, the dog is settled, we are showered (neither of us braved the bath) and ready for bed.  We throw back the duvet in a hurry to jump in (we are newlyweds after all!) and both pause at sight of the mattress.  Collapsed in the middle, springs protruding on either side, generally sad looking, this mattress had seen better days.  We shrugged, tried to have a cuddle without obtaining an injury and resorted to watching a bit of TV.  Of course the remote had no batteries, of course the buttons on the TV no longer worked, of course we just resigned ourselves to watching 'Red or Black' or whatever the title of the dull game of chance was called.  At which point we noticed an odd smell.  I blamed Mr T, he blamed the dog.. even the dog was taking refuge at the far side of the room.  After much 'sniffing' about the place, we found the source of the odour... the bed linen.  I can only describe this fragrance as... well, feet.  Nasty, unwashed, summers-day-walked-a-mile-in-trainers-with-no-socks feet.  I do not like feet.  I don't like the look, the smell, the feel, the general presence of feet.  At all.  Ever.  Least of all do I like them up my nose.  We couldn't stand the thought of facing happy-chappy's 'how can I (not really) help you?' service again, so we put up and shut up.

Six o'clock the following morning, after very little sleep- sadly from the sharp pain of springs in my back rather than the reason you may expect- I took Mack for a very long, very muddy walk in the rain.  She loved it and seeing her so happy cheered me up remarkably.  Back at the hotel, dear Mr T was at reception trying to get us an upgrade to a less odorous, more comfortable room- preferably with a clean, working bath- and I arrived back just as we were being advised to enjoy the facilities and check back in an hour to see if a room was available.  Off we went to the pool feeling much brighter.  A little dip in the pool, a little time in the steam room followed by the hot tub... bliss.  Only the pool was full.  Full of old people.  The spa was out of action.  The bar was closed.

We decided to cut our losses, back to the room we went to pack with muddy pup in tow.  Mr T took the bags down to the car, I made a final check of the room and the bathroom- to return to find a very muddy, very pleased with herself Mackie stood in the middle of the bed, on the cheesy white sheets, about to shake.  Whilst I knew I should spring into action and do the right thing and chastise the dog, I found myself saying 'Good girl!' in a high-pitched, excited voice that belonged to someone else entirely.  I turned over the duvet, hurried down to the car and away we went- dog and all.

In the words of dear Dorothy, 'There's no place like home'.  We were home early, but our television has working controls, our bed is comfortable and smells of freshly laundered sheets and whilst our bathtub may not have bubbles (unless you include Mr T's own brand), it is clean.

The moral of the story? Well there isn't one really, I'm just British and can't help but complain, but there's more to a honeymoon than where you are.  Mr T and I managed to have plenty of laughs along the way and the point was we got to spend some valuable time together- dog and all.