Currently sitting on the large windowsilon the second floor of the Cavendish Hotel in Bournemouth; I can hear my mother’s keys rattling outsider th door and just watched Rupert Murdoch get a pie in the face.
Like sitting on any flat piece of wood my legs are getting a little pins and needles but with the aid of a cuishion of one of the chairs this is quite a comfortable spot.
I located the tea and coffee already in a groovy old style tin, and the mini complimentary shower things litter the shelves in the ensuite. Yes this is all very nice.
The bed is made out of luxurious red satin bedcovers and an impressive dressing room mirror stand on a sturdy set of drawers for me to use.
However the carpet is what my nan had years ago, the decor doesn’t match… or rather it was done by someone trying to match it all and failing miserably.
I am a little unnerved by the unidentified red spots on the white net curtain tie backs. Is it blood? Is it not? The vase with fake flowers has a huge chip in it and the lack of a security lock on the windows is annoying. It opens to loosely a too far for me to sit here is a hot room next to it safely so I have to keep it shut. The busy road is a bit too noisy for open windows anyway.
I shouldn’t be complaining, it is nice and the lady at reception was lovely. I am a little sleepy I suppose and need a second cup of tea. Review/remark to be continued at some time tomorrow when I have used the shower/bath. (the shower has nothing tio hold it up ¬_¬ I was promised a shower)