Tuesday, October 27, 2015

The ultimate revenge

Last weekend, Jane and I were down in the New Forest, celebrating the wedding of one of her former colleagues at a country hotel, and much fun was had by all. In fact, one of my favourite weddings for a long time.

I shall name no parties, Innocent, guilty or otherwise, but all was good until the tab behind the bar ran dry, and we bought our first paid round of drinks.

Me: "One whiskey and American, and two G&Ts please"

Barman: "Ice?"

Me: "Plenty in the gins, none at all in the whiskey for that is a BLASPHEMY"

Barman: "That'll be £28.20 please"

Me: "How much?"

Barman: "£28.20"

Me: "The fuck it is, what's the real price?"

But it really was £28.20, and I waved goodbye to the last three tenners out of my wallet, meaning we'd have to walk back to the B&B.

I'm not saying it clouded the whole weekend, but I took no joy punching owls until eggs came out on our visit to the New Forest Wildlife Park the following day.

So, after letting it stew for a couple of days, and shouting "TWENTY EIGHT QUID!" at anyone who might be listening, I settled for the ultimate act of revenge any man could take.

A middling TripAdvisor review.

"Beautifully appointed country hotel with wonderful amenities and attentive service. But that's all by-the-by because it's TWENTY EIGHT POUNDS for three drinks at the bar and it isn't even London."

Stick those three stars where the sun doesn't shine, Mr Hotel Manager.


Dioclese said...

Grow a pair and tell them to fuck off. I would...

Dioclese said...

At a guess I'd say that was the Chewton Glen hotel? It's right up it's own arse...

Flaxen Saxon said...

You could go back and burn the place down- you now you want to. Tis cathartic.