Hotel from Hell

Criccieth

My first taste of North Wales was many years ago in the usual and all the more popular ‘bucket and spade’ manner, staying at a variety of good value B ‘n’ B’s on Marine Drive with an ever impressive sea view.
As I recall, we were always lucky with the weather, but maybe it’s these rose tinted glasses of mine that have altered my memory?
Safe in the knowledge that the kids would rather give the elephant man the kiss of life; this made the budget bigger and the planning simpler.
This meant we could finally treat ourselves to somewhere more sophisticated than past visits. The hotel itself? It looked great from the outside, what could possibly go wrong?

Stanley on reception seemed pleasant enough, he handed us our key to room 114, after two flights of stairs and some haphazard guessing we found said room. As we went through the keyhole there was a stench of cigarettes, the kind I haven’t smelt since you could smoke in nightclubs, even the bedding reeked. It was the smallest double room I had ever seen, I’ am talking Harry Potter’s cupboard under the stairs.
The view this time was seen through smoke tinted glasses, onto an overgrown patch of land with a rickety fire escape and bare piping. I didn’t even venture into the “en-suite”; seeing that a dressing table had had a leg sawn off to fit was enough for me (seriously who does that?)

Cutting away to the reception again, I told Stanley we couldn’t sleep in the room as my husband had asthma. He doesn’t of course, but after a nights stay I reckon we would have, and very possibly a need for an iron lung each!. As they had no other rooms available cancelled our 4 nights stay. Stanley wasn’t sure if we would incur a charge for this, we would have to wait for the manager to sort this out, who had ironically nipped of for a quick cig.

We waited a full 45 minutes and no manager came, maybe it was a cigar, maybe he was rolling it too?. Anyway, from the final straw to the first pint. I found myself in the pub opposite sipping a stiff measure of cider, whilst hubs arranged for us to stay in our usual, trusty Bed and Breakfast.
Another half pint and a generic ringtone later, there’s a return phone call from the manager, Gavin. Who kindly informed me that I would have to pay for the first night as it was too late for him to let the room, in return, I kindly informed him I had spotted a young couple smoking woodbines along the front, so maybe his luck is in?
He insisted on talking over my protests, which could only mean one thing….. a Mexican stand off in the foyer complete with itchy trigger fingers. I think Gavin was shocked at how quick I shot to the Hotel, we did some very public disagreeing and I explained very nicely that under no circumstances would I pay anything and if he did charge anything to my account he may wish he hadn’t.
in less that 7 minutes, Gavin has cut his losses and I was back in the Bryn ‘y’ Arms across the road to raise a toast to customer satisfaction as my hubs said “I didn’t come over to help as I knew you wouldn’t need me”,

A valuable lesson has been learnt; keep to the trusty seaside B and B’s

Perhaps in the same way you shouldn’t trust a book by its cover, never judge a welsh hotel, by its cladding? ( llading )…….