Bray People - - NEWS - Jus­tine O' Ma­hony

LAST week­end My­self and Him­self went off for a ‘ro­man­tic’ week­end to­gether in a posh ho­tel. Now I use the term, ‘ro­man­tic’ loosely be­cause Him­self doesn’t do ro­mance. His idea of ro­mance is to turn down the soc­cer for ten seconds when I tell him I love him and pat me on the leg be­fore turn­ing it up again!

The posh ho­tel was my idea (ob­vi­ously!) and it was worth ev­ery penny as far as I was con­cerned. We were given a glass of lo­cally dis­tilled whiskey on ar­rival, had our own Christ­mas tree in our room and his and her sinks (my per­sonal favourite) in the bath­room.

Be­cause it was posh, we were warned that the drink would be spendy so we brought a bal­ly­gowan bot­tle filled with gin and few cans of tonic. Classy eh?! Ev­ery­thing was go­ing rather well although we did con­sume a tad more bal­ly­gowan than we meant to, un­til we went into the bar for a drink be­fore din­ner.

The wait­ress re­turned with our drinks and a lit­tle tray of nuts, leav­ing our bill dis­creetly be­side it. Not dis­creet enough un­for­tu­nately.

‘What?! Jay­sus! Over €10 for a gin and nearly €7 for a bot­tle of beer! That’s ex­tor­tion­ate!’ His face was go­ing that par­tic­u­lar shade of red it goes when he feels he’s be­ing fleeced. He tucked into the nuts with fierce aban­don, mak­ing sure he ate ev­ery last one, to get his money’s worth.

I per­suaded him to or­der another round, which to be fair he did, but not be­fore he told the wait­ress to bring ‘another round of nuts!’ Three rounds of nuts later and I think he was be­gin­ning to feel not so hard done by.

How he man­aged to eat din­ner af­ter­wards I have no idea, but then again there wasn’t an aw­ful lot of din­ner to eat. One piece of fish with a few roasted veg was the sum to­tal of his main, whilst mine was a piece of beef and an ox cheek (don’t even go there!).

The Wine waiter came round to take our or­der. I told him we’d like white and said I didn’t want any­thing too ex­pen­sive. He clicked his fin­gers as if he’d just dis­cov­ered the cure for Ebola and said, ‘I have just the thing!’ be­fore point­ing at a bot­tle of wine for €105. ‘We’ll have the house white’ I said, snap­ping the menu shut and smil­ing through grit­ted teeth.

Two hours later and we were sit­ting in the bar, me on the cock­tails (may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb), Him­self on the beer and rounds of nuts. We rem­i­nisced over all the crappy ho­tels we’d stayed in down through the years, like the one in West Cork where there were con­dom wrap­pers on the win­dow sill, the place in Kin­sale that had body hairs in the bed and the one in Dublin where they cooked the break­fast the night be­fore and cov­ered them in cling­film to be heated up in the mi­crowave. ‘Ah we had great craic though,’ says Him­self sen­ti­men­tally. ‘We’re just not five star peo­ple,’ I sighed, stand­ing up to go to the ladies room. As I walked across the floor, the heel of my shoe got caught in the hem of my skirt and I ended up on the flat of my arse star­ing at a gi­ant Christ­mas tree. Like I said, Classy!


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