Not absent - still here!
Keep Calm and Carry On Poeming. 😂
Arrived at Durham, a nice little town
Famed for a cathedral of world renown.
I stayed at a pub attractive enough
Pleasant, olde worlde, certainly not rough.
But however, contrary to their boast
They catered for drinkers and weren’t a host
To weary travelers such as myself -
Sightseeing tourists but without much wealth.
A room at the top of long winding stairs
Had no opening window to take the airs
And lumpy bed and a broken shower:-
A change was made after some (ah) bother.
Bed was better though the toilet was slow
Tricky to flush with intermittent flow.
The wardrobe comprised two hooks on the wall,
An entire room furnished just like the hall.
Not even a chest of drawers provided;
This left me well and truly dumfounded.
While downstairs was charming, almost antique,
Upstairs became a nightmare, so to speak.
My window’s view was a cobbled rear yard
It’s charming character could please a bard:
(However I own that bard isn’t me;
A sensitive soul would certainly flee).
There in the corner stood a stone privy
Ancient, very small, covered in ivy
And leaning against a mossy stone wall,
Used by staff and customers one and all.
British closing ain’t wot it used to be,
Landlords discretion now seems fairly free:
Regular closing hours gone by the board,
“Last Orders” is a cry now rarely heard.
So business lasting through the wee small hours
Denied me sleep’s restorative powers.
Sounds reached upstairs without interruption;
Passing hours signaled no reduction.
Drinking beer, the client’s main interest,
Increases the body’s need to divest
Surplus ale from a bladder distended.
And so any hopes of peace were ended.
The pub’s steel back door lead to the gents,
When used without care the noise was intense,
Its source a self closing powerful spring
And bell providing a discordant ding.
The toilet door was also a shocker,
No way a swinger more of a rocker;
It’s hinges shot, the creak and rasp not good,
No carpenter called to service the wood.
Then sometimes when someone went to the loo
I heard only one door rather than two;
This was distressing as where was that rasp?
All tension left sleep right out of my grasp.
The state of that dunny would stir some dread:
Perhaps some patrons used the wall instead?
A theory confirmed around six o’clock
When I experienced a further shock….
As after half an hour of fitful doze
Up came the howl of a high pressure hose
Blasting the air with a terrible roar.
Then dawn broke and they could inflict no more…
Well I endured this for my three night stay,
Newcastle came next – I was on my way.
The peace and quiet of a big city-
Sounds ironical but have some pity,
For by comparison it really was luxurious paradise….
-
Author:
Doggerel Dave (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 31st, 2020 16:36
- Comment from author about the poem: One snapshot during a great 12 week Europe and UK tour 2011. That cobbled courtyard - easily visualised the highwayman come riding up to the old inn door. Looked for Bess the following morning, but couldn't find her....
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments6
Great poem, horrendous accommodation. I never stay in pubs for all the reasons you outline. You're no youngster, are you new to finding accommodation? There's lessons to be learned here LOL. Oh - always take earplugs and a torch.
Agree absolutely dusk a. No, not new to finding accommodation. Situation has changed over time from when I began. Early travel for me was a much more free wheeling affair - I'd know roughly where I was going, reach spot and would rock up to the local Tourist Information which provided local info AND my accommodation. With the advent of the 'net many T. infos lost that capacity and much had to be prebooked on line. This joint looked OK from their web page..... Never mind, I got a yarn out of it, something to dine out on - or even inflict on MPS!
Thanks for reaching out. Dave
Yes I too have been in those places where sleep becomes priceless, mind you the worst place I have stayed was a hotel in Hartlepool where you couldn't open the window without a seagull becoming your guest!
Andy
I am pretty sure the missus and I stayed at the same place in Levelland, Texas (yes flat as a pancake, half way between the mountains of New Mexico and the verdant rivers of Central Texas). The THIRD room we were moved to had a bed balanced on cinder blocks that we had to level, and we smelled Indian cooking all night through the vents. I tried to take a late dip in the pool but alas the floating dead opossum kind of ruined the mood.
Both Andy and jarcher : I have a theory that these places are part of an international chain, the Director of which is that well known old soldier, General Incompetence
Take it easy, Dave
Epic ... perfectly formed sixteen stanzas .. that is quite some achievement mate .... and, I now know where to steer clear of when I venture up North......... enjoyed from end to end me fine literary friend.............
Neville
Thanks for the resurrection - I thought this was well and truly buried.
Up north ain't so bad - only that pub.
And "anything north of Watford Gap": as an East Ender, born and bred (Dad claimed to have been born within the sound of Bow Bells) my birth culture was pretty parochial. However...life imposes other realities. And (as I'm sometimes fond of remarking) so it goes....
Dave
I loved the poem but not sure if I would love a stay there. Sometimes the modern is better than the old. Progress is not all bad.
Got that right, Soren. In retrospect, I believe that pub was set up for overnight tradies (tradesmen) and not tourists - which doesn't excuse the way it was sold on the internet. Again, thanks for the resurrection.
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