Home is where the key fits

Welcome to my humble abode for the evening. I’m not going to tell you exactlywhich hotel, owned by exactlywhich chain I am in, for fear of betraying my position to enemy spies. Ahem.

So. As you can see, there’s a wardrobe with no doors on it just inside the door (otherwise known as a plank and a clothes rail screwed to the wall), accompanied by a desk with no drawers (otherwise known as a plank screwed to the wall with plugsockets in it). While I could stay at the big Holiday Inn just outside town, there are a few reasons I am not;

One night in the Holiday Inn pays for three nights here The act of a member of staff looking at you costs money in the Holiday Inn Ok, that was a joke, but only barely - delivering anything to your room has an itemised cost. Apparently each pace costs about 10 pence. There is a good mobile signal here (there is not at the Holiday Inn) The wireless internet here costs 20% of the wireless internet at the Holiday Inn

I could go on, but that would just become bitter and boring. The real mystery to me is how so many people get away with staying in trumped up hotels when away with work. At the end of the day I’m here to do a job, and as long as the room is comfortable, clean, fairly quiet, and I have an internet connection, I couldn’t care less about anything else.

While looking at the door locks a few moments ago, I couldn’t help but remember Tim Minchin’s comments wondering if we were locking bad people out, or ourselves in ?

Not for me the swimming pools, gymnasiums, restaurants and bars. Perhaps I’m more boring than I thought. The picture painted in “Up in the Air” by George Clooney doesn’t exist in any reality I know. Hotels are never filled with chatty, personable business people on an evening, and parties never happen that you might crash with somebody you met in the bar earlier in the evening.

Apart from my work colleagues, I have had human contact with three people today. The lady who sold me a train ticket this morning, the man who drove my taxi from the station, and the lady on the checkout in the supermarket half an hour ago.

Perhaps it’s time I hit the internet, and went off in search of some pseudo human contact ?