Thursday, June 2, 2011

me and the fancy, british hotel

I went to London recently and got to stay in a fabulous hotel. A cool place to have stayed at but probably not something I would have picked myself (yeah, I did not have to pay for it).

When we drive up to the hotel, through a golf course and a neat park, I arrive to a mansion-like place. I get help to carry in my luggage and feel slightly out of place wearing my converse, turquoise cardigan, and glittery, shock-pink nails.  After I have checked in, the man take my bag and takes me to my room where he gives me the key. Am I supposed to give a tip? I have no clue as this is the fanciest hotel I ever stayed in and not really used to customs. Well I didn't, I did not eve have cash. Then I get the room key which is actually a key, not one of those plastic cards.

























I change my shoes to a pair of ballerina to feel less awkward in my loneliness when I go downstairs to the Orangery for some light dinner. Waiters wearing suits and speaking British English (of course, since we are in Britain) which makes it feel even more fancy. Sitting down looking over the golf course and other people looking like other version of Prince Charles and Camilla.

























In my room I can feel more like myself and switch to more comfortable jammies. Take a bath in the gorgeous bath tub and just enjoying myself.

























Later taking on the bath robe hanging there on the door, creeping up in the soft, wonderful, big bed. There in the fancy hotel room in my bath robe I continue reading the biography The Dirt with Neil Strauss and Mötley Crüe, feeling a little less out of place and a little bit more me.

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