When you let your partner pick your holiday hotel.
When your wish for a pony comes true at last.
Which is your garden – rewilding or OCD?
When you wonder if it was a good idea to have coffee at the garden centre.
Artist denies paintings were actually done by his toddler.
Scientist close to bringing back extinct species…
Today’s tale follows on from last week.
Charlotte sat by the river, the sun on her face, note book on her lap. She was living the dream; not just coping with her new life, but actually a full time writer writing. Full time because she hadn’t found a job yet, but nevertheless she was like any writer or artist on the way up… now she just had to put pen to paper. She had no idea what was in the note that Lottie received, but if she just started scribbling…
Lottie looked round the gloomy hotel room and realised she should have splashed out on a luxury room not a cosy room. Cousin Ruth’s idea of posh hotel should not have been relied upon. She opened the envelope, hoping to find out what and where was happening next on this strange weekend.
Hello Cousin Lottie, so looking forward to meeting you and it is so good of you to come after everything that happened in the past. I don’t know how much Callum told you. I hoped we would hear from him one day, but it was not to be and we had no way of getting in touch.
I’m sure they wouldn’t want us lot in that posh restaurant at your hotel so we’re meeting at a nice family pub round the corner that has a soft play area. Malc my nephew will wait for you in the hotel foyer 6.30pm.
It was already six, not much time to get ready with her things still in her case, but it was hardly a book launch or one of Callum’s business diners. She would probably be back in the cheerless room quite early so she checked the television, or at least stood there wondering how it worked. Callum used to like playing with televisions and remotes so it was taken for granted he would start fiddling with buttons while she arranged her toiletries in the bathroom. Then they would watch a bit of news while looking at the menu to see what the hotel restaurant was offering. The soulless room brought home to her how much she missed Callum and their shared life, she couldn’t even arrange her toiletries in an en-suite obviously created out of a cupboard.
Please bear with us while modernisation proceeds to make your favourite hotel even more comfortable. Read the message on the welcome card. Lottie scrolled down to room instructions and pressed the button on the television. It came on at full volume with a quiz show hosted by that bloke on TV she couldn’t stand. The numbers on the remote did not relate to changing channels. She switched off and prepared to do battle with the heavy fire door.
In the foyer a middle aged man stood looking like he didn’t want to be there.
‘I’m Malc, you must be Lottie? Come on, let’s get this show on the road.’
He ushered her first through the double doors onto the pavement where it was now pouring with rain, though he didn’t seem to notice. The place was just round the corner to her relief. Through the door past a life size model of a highland stag and Lottie wondered how much stranger the evening could get. She also wondered which of the many families eating and wandering back and forth to the carvery were Callum’s relatives. Suddenly a woman with a halo of red hair and flowing garments rushed forward and clasped her in her ample arms.
‘Well here we are at last, come this way.’
As they approached a long table laden with food the folk gathered round it seemed more interested in eating than greeting. Lottie imagined how she would describe the scene to Callum, then realised she could never tell him. Suddenly a figure stood up.
‘Lottie Lincoln, I’m so excited to meet you, I’ve read all your books.’
A young woman, smartly dressed with a sleek elfin haircut, squeezed past the others.
‘You lot make room for Lottie while I take her to the carvery and show her what’s what.’
She guided Lottie in what seemed a complicated route past tables and a strange cage containing bouncing children.
‘Soft play area, godsend, some of those kids are ours apparently. I’m new in the family, in law like you. We have something in common. I’m Tilly, my husband’s a vicar, not here yet, been called out to some pastoral emergency.’
‘Good to meet you, I am rather overwhelmed.’
‘Not surprised, but I think I can rescue you, coming to us for morning coffee tomorrow and I’ll fill you in. Must look after my favourite author.’
Lottie had found a new friend and inspiration for a new novel, her head was spinning, but she just had to get through this evening and stay close to Tilly.
Charlotte felt quite excited, what an interesting family, hard to believe she had just created them herself and what on earth had happened in the past? She had no idea.
While I have been on holiday Charlotte Charlington has been writing more about her new leading character, Lottie Lincoln.
Lottie nearly fell out of the train. The platform seemed a long way down and she had got flustered trying to work out whether her wheelie weekend case should go before or after her. At least she had arrived at the right station.
The invitation to visit had come from some vague cousin of her late husband; neither of them had many relatives and Callum had never mentioned a cousin Ruth. She had been lurking on the last page of his old address book, so Lottie had added her to the list of people to write and inform of her husband’s sudden death. There was no way of knowing if she was still living at the same address near Peterborough or even if she was still alive, so Lottie was surprised to soon receive a reply and an invitation to visit. Her writer’s mind suspected an ulterior motive, did they assume she was a rich widow? But her author’s mind also thought Ruth’s family could provide excellent inspiration for her writing. She had been relieved to hear the large blended family had no room for her to stay in comfort and had booked the recommended local posh hotel.
Lottie checked her phone again. The latest of several text messages said Si would pick her up at the front of the little station in five minutes. No other passengers were loitering looking out for lifts so presumably he would find her. When she saw a young man jump out of a scruffy white van she wished she had taken a taxi.
‘Hey Lottie, over here.’
Her case twisted sideways as she stepped off the curb. Husbands were so useful for dealing with luggage.
Si quickly appeared at her side.
‘I was coming over to help.’
He picked the case up with ease and slung it into the back of the van, setting a dog barking. Lottie winced. Si led her to the passenger door.
‘I hope you’re more athletic than Gran.’
Lottie hoped he didn’t think she was as old as his grandmother.
‘Step’s a bit high up, just swing yourself in, sorry about the mess.’
He swept crisp packets off the seat and made an attempt to move empty water bottles and drink cans out of the way of her feet. A larger fury head suddenly appeared between the seats. Lottie hastily moved her right arm away from the drooling mouth.
‘That’s Brutus, quite harmless. Hey Brute, you haven’t been furtling around in Lottie’s luggage have you?’
Lottie shuddered.
They swung out of the car park at full speed and hurtled through featureless streets till they pulled up at a straggling building that could be a pub, a hotel or an office block. Si left her to clamber out while he fetched her case and let Brutus out.
‘Okay Brute, you can get back in the front seat now.’
He strode up to the glass doors and Lottie hoped he would leave her at the steps to regain her composure.
‘Never been inside this place before, um reception this way, I’ll leave you at the desk. Oh I nearly forgot, Gran gave me a note for you, just to tell you where we’re all meeting up for dinner. Right, gotta go, see you later.’
A young woman behind the desk smiled then rattled off some questions by rote. ‘Have you stayed with us before? What was your name? Is it just yourself staying? Would you like to book breakfast, any allergies?’
Lottie supposed this was what it would be like, going on holiday by oneself. She didn’t count this as a holiday and hoped she looked like she was away on business. Lottie realised the girl was still talking and handing her a blank rectangle of white plastic.
‘It hasn’t got any writing on it.’
‘For security, just swipe it over the lock, the door is a bit heavy, fire door.. Through the double doors, turn left and you’ll see the lift, room 424.’
The phone on the desk rang and the girl answered before Lottie had a chance to say she didn’t like lifts. She reminded herself she was a successful author who had stayed in hotels for conferences, but Callum had always come along as well.
She pulled her shoulders back and tried to look blasé as other guests sauntered past. In the lift she pressed the button for the fourth floor, held her breath and closed her eyes. Stepping out she was confronted by three doors with room numbers and selected 413-429. She entered a dark corridor, squeezing past a trolley full of sheets and toiletries and cups. 414, 415… the corridor took a sharp turn and became darker and narrower. 419, 420… she was confronted by a set of steps and another corner. How would she ever find her way out again.
Once more she held her breath as she pressed the plastic card against the lock. On the second try there was a flash of green light and with great difficulty she pushed the door open, tripping over the case as she squeezed through, the door was determined to slam shut.
Inside, the décor was the latest in interior trends, grey. Lottie thought longingly of her little cottage, then reprimanded herself. Ladies her age were still out reporting in terrible war zones so she should cope with this weekend. She opened the note, wondering where or when she was actually going to meet Ruth.
‘I don’t care where, as long as there is a beach and sunshine…. Make that a decent hotel with a pool and a private beach… any country that will let us in and let us out again… no I don’t care if we have to isolate when we get back, working from home is no big deal.’
Ben scrolled down the computer screen, Tina was right, they were both desperate for a holiday; two weeks away and they would worry later about getting back.
It was bliss; by the pool, on the beach, al fresco dining and the staff were fabulous, glad to have guests and so few guests Ben and Tina were given plenty of attention. They were more relaxed than they had felt in years, their worries left at home. Ben had suggested leaving their phones at home as well, but Tina thought that was going a bit far. They would need the internet to sort out the return journey, but a good compromise was to leave phones and iPads in the hotel safe, along with their passports, as they didn’t trust the staff, plus a few bits of Tina’s jewellery in case a local business person invited them for dinner.
So far the only locals they had met were the staff, but they were enjoying the novelty of spending time together, sauntering through the grove of trees to the beach with its quaint collection of fishing boats and locals mending nets. Or they could look up at the rolling hills that were the backdrop to the gleaming new white hotel. This was a real get away break, no television, no news, no discussions of climate change or Covid. Perhaps tomorrow, their fifth day, they would hike up the hills or venture into the local village, if there was one. They would have to ask that friendly waiter, who had a good smattering of English, what lay outside the high hotel walls and how you actually got out.
The sunset that night was a delight, Ben was almost tempted to request the night manager to open the safe so he could get his phone out and take an Instagram shot, but Tina insisted no digital image could capture the rich reds and dark streaks in the sky.
They woke late the next morning, surprised the sun was not streaming through the window. Out on the balcony the sky looked dull and the sea had lost its sparkle.
‘Perhaps it’s going to rain,’ said Tina ‘does it rain here?’
‘No idea, the air doesn’t feel damp, in fact there is a strange scent in the air, I can’t smell the sea like I usually do.’
‘It’s very quiet this morning Ben.’
Ben felt an unease; it was always quiet here, but now it was silent, unnaturally so. He felt that tingle in his spine that told him he was outside his comfort zone, he had an urge to be reunited with his mobile phone. He chivvied Tina to hurry so they wouldn’t miss breakfast.
Their footsteps echoed on the marble staircase and as they swept round the curve they saw the snooty elderly couple who had not exchanged a single word with them. Now they were poised expectantly at the foot of the stairs.
‘Hey ho, nobody on the desk’ said the husband.
‘And the dining room is empty’ added his wife.
‘It’s late, we slept in’ said Tina, ‘we must have missed breakfast.’
‘No, completely empty, no sign of life, no food, no indication anyone had breakfast.’
‘Ben, there must be something wrong, what shall we do?’
‘Forage in the kitchen’ said the old chap.
‘I don’t think things are that drastic yet,’ said Ben ‘the staff are very attentive, I’ll ask the manager what’s going on.’
Ben strode over to the reception desk as if someone would pop up instantly at his approach, but there was nobody there. He skirted round the desk and rapped loudly on the door of the office, no response. A hefty push sent the door flying open to reveal the empty office and a computer with a dark screen. Ben fiddled with the keyboard and the mouse to no avail, the old chap laughed as he tried the light switch on the wall.
‘Power’s off by the looks of it.’
Ben was staring at the very solid door of the safe. The manager was the only person allowed to open it, but where was the manager? If there was a crisis Ben wanted to get Tina back to the airport and home. Without their passports and phones they were stuck.
‘Right, there must be some explanation. Tina and I will search the grounds you two check the rest of the hotel.’
Leaving the air conditioned building they knew instantly what was wrong, the air had a dry crackle, an acrid scent. The sky over the sea had a thick haze and as they turned to look up at the hills real fear gripped them as they stared at the glowing crest.
‘There must be an evacuation plan’ said Tina.
‘I think love the evacuation plan has already been carried out, but it’s okay, that private beach is a godsend.’
Ben was saved from heroically rescuing the old couple from the hotel building, they were already stumbling out on to the terrace.
‘Are you certain nobody is in the hotel?’
‘Certain, bloody staff have deserted us.’
‘Forgotten,’ said Tina ‘or perhaps about to come and fetch us, they’ll be down on the beach organising the evacuation in all those boats.’
She patted the arm of the elderly lady, proud she was keeping calm in an emergency.
As they trekked through the grove, ash was already floating down. The beach seemed much further away, they could have done without the slow old couple Ben thought to himself.
‘Reminds me of that time we were stuck in…’ the old man tried to wheeze out the words while his wife shook her head to silence him.
On the beach, clear of the grove at last, they instinctively turned to look up at the hills. The flames were marching down with a speed that seemed impossible. Relief that they were well clear of the hotel was short lived as they turned back to look at the beach and the sea. There was not a single boat in sight, with the ever darkening sky it was hard to tell if smudges on the horizon were boats, but the churned up sand and foot prints leading from the trail through the grove to where the water lapped the beach, indicated a hurried departure by a good few people.
‘They’ll come back for us,’ said Tina ‘we’ll be safe by the water, have you two got your phones, ours are in the safe.’
‘No, it’s on charge in our room, not much help if the power’s off… no reception here anyway, we’re on our own… he started to splutter his words as the air thickened.
A loud crack made Tina jump and grab Ben’s arm. No one spoke as they watched the flames take hold of the grove, behind it the hotel gleamed white for a second before being engulfed in flames and smoke.
What are the pros and cons of going on holiday in November – in the Northern Hemisphere? If you plan to trek to the North Pole there are no pros, you had better wait till summer which won’t be much better… but for elsewhere?
There are not too many people around, you don’t have to queue or worry you won’t find a parking spot.
You won’t have to book accommodation well in advance.
You can take advantage of last minute cheap deals.
You won’t have to book on line well in advance for places of interest.
Packing is easy, just your winter clothes.
You can work up a good appetite with the chilly weather.
You can enjoy sitting in front of a log fire.
There are plenty of hours to enjoy the night sky.
You will not get too hot when going walking or climbing.
It is invigorating walking by the sea or on a hill top.
It’s not the school holidays.
The autumn trees are a beautiful colour.
You can start Christmas shopping.
It’s too quiet, there aren’t many people around.
Your hotel is empty and depressing, the staff bored.
That last minute bargain deal is not a bargain, the hotel was cheap because it’s awful.
The places you were glad you didn’t have to queue up for are closed for the winter.
Lots of places are closed for the winter.
The places that aren’t closed, close early, usually just before you get there.
Packing is hard as you have to fit in gloves, scarves, thick socks, hats and lots of everything in case you get soaked in the rain.
You can’t have picnics.
It’s hard to find somewhere open to eat.
It’s even harder to find somewhere open in the evening to eat.
The days are too short.
If you go walking out in the country you will probably slip in the mud or fall into a fast flowing stream.
If you go to the seaside to photograph winter waves you may be swept away by a freak wave.
Children are at school, you’re surrounded by pensioners on holiday.
The trees are bare and depressing.
The shops have started Christmas too early.
Why would you paint a hotel battleship grey, inside and out; isn’t the idea to attract guests and customers not make them feel as if they are in prison? Perhaps the owners of The Swan, Alton, Hampshire got a job lot of grey paint.
Our two nights away in Hampshire started off in sunshine. Part of the plan ( the main part ) was to use up our tickets for Jane Austen’s house, the tickets lasted a year and we had only a few days left. If you ever buy tickets for any place and are delighted you have a whole year to revisit, it is guaranteed you will never return; even if you live in the same country, even if you have not been kidnapped for a year or overcome with disasters, you will not return. As the sunshine disappeared and the day became overcast and grey Cyberspouse asked if I had remembered the tickets. I hadn’t. Never mind, we would buy new tickets and make a contribution to a national and literary treasure.
By the time we reached Alton the sky was heavy and grey and matched the hotel, this was our first view from the car park. Inside, all the decor was shades of grey, brightened only by a gloomy tartan carpet and pictures and lights. However, the staff were friendly and cheerful.
Our room had a little sitting room with a small television screen and a tiny bedroom with a large TV screen. We were just in time to watch the Oxford Cambridge boat race, but the big screen would not work, lucky we had two TVs. This little sitting room could have been cosy, less like a prison cell, in another colour scheme with better views,
On the way out to explore we reported the broken television. When we returned they were just about to fix it; the second chap seemed to know what he was doing and after ripping it off the wall and repeated trips back and forth it was fixed.
When we went down for dinner the TV fixer showed us to our table. In fact he was on duty the whole time we were there, at the desk and everywhere and checked us out when we left.
Breakfast was okay, with orders freshly cooked, but an uninspiring breakfast bar with flasks for tea and coffee. On the second morning I asked if I could have a tea pot and that is what I got, no cup, no milk no extra hot water, back to the breakfast bar for that.
Jane Austen perhaps visited The Swan
..First mentioned in a rental document in 1499, the Swan hotel is an iconic building, set in the old market town of Alton. A tavern and hostelry, it was listed in 1674 as having 18 chambers, a parlour, kitchen, brewhouse, malthouse, old kitchen, and wine and beer cellars. It was further developed in 1777 to become the coaching inn you see today. The Swan would have been well known to famous local residents; author Jane Austen and naturalist Gilbert White.
Yes we did get to Chawton to visit Jane again and now we have a year’s tickets for her cottage and The Big House. The weather remained unremittingly grey for our stay, but we enjoyed our visit which you can read about next week. In the meantime here are some mellow and misty pictures of Chawton at my website.
https://www.ccsidewriter.co.uk/chapter-five-beach-writer-s-blog
Read about last year’s visit here.
https://tidalscribe.wordpress.com/2018/04/18/visiting-jane/
What is the worst colour hotel you have been to? We once stayed at an Edinburgh hotel which was literally all tartan, we were definitely plaid out by the end of our visit. Candy pink would be too sickly, what colour would you paint a hotel?
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 