Saturday, December 17, 2011

Wrong kind of heat

Two strange things at Bewleys Hotel Manchester:

1. It isn't quite where it says it is on the map or in the micro chipped mind of the satnav world view we follow, we are her new disciples. It has moved, shifted, carried along by the entropy of the universe through traffic cones, roadworks and diversions to some other place. Like some mysterious floating island it appears and disappears, propelled though space and time by the moods of a frosty winter moon. You dive in when you can, when the spirits allow. Those others who disappoint them or fail in their quest wonder the broad lost roads forever or possibly enter a loop of eternal parking madness at the nearby Hilton where the barrier gives you a nasty bite.

2. Even in December Bewleys don't switch the room heating on, they are committed to green things on account of their marketable Irish origins. It is controlled by the hidden switch above a panel in the ceiling near the door, easily found if you are a spy or a cast member of Mission Impossible, they always jump into these places to place bugs and secret cameras. The bus driver explained it all after the receptionist tipped him off about how best to fix it after she'd asked the head waiter. It pays to investigate all active areas.

By way of non-strange things the steak and chips is very nice and the broadband is neat.

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