Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Gone country

Upon arrival at Manchester airport, the pre-arranged complimentary hotel shuttle was waiting curbside. The driver wasn't much help with the bags unfortunately; but he's shockingly good behind the wheel.

We were so looking forward to our relaxing weekend in a lovely hotel in the Cheshire countryside.

Er...or would that be shitty hostel in the middle of nowhere? Once a year, eh? I guess that's alright considering the proprietors of this lovely establishment slept on two twin beds which had been hastily pushed together when they visited us in Brussels. And especially since there were homemade chocolate peanut butter truffles on the pillows.

Well, I guess this might be retribution for the obnoxious abandoned alarm clock in the flat above ours that went off daily in the early morning hours during the aforementioned stay in Brussels.

Okay. That's it. I've seen some exorbitant mini bar prices in my day but this takes the cocktail.

After settling in (and recovering from the shocking conditions in which we were to spend the weekend), it was off to a country pub for some lunch. Sitting by the fire, noshing on bangers and mash, sipping pints...it was like a scene out of The Holiday. So cue the snow.

The only problem with watching big fat flakes fall outside the pub window is that eventually, you have to go out in it and attempt to drive home. It's not a good sign when your driver heads straight for the hatchback.

But we did make it back safe and sound eventually. And good thing too since our hosts had promised us an evening fit for visiting royalty. Or at the very least, fit for footballers and their WAGs... So we all got gussied up and scooted out the door into the snowy evening for the very short walk to the train station. Unfortunately we did not scoot quite fast enough since we saw our train pull into the station when we were only about half way there.

So we decided to wait for the next one while partaking in some refreshment at Phuze's local. Phuze tell us our fellow patrons aren't, you know, the classiest their village has to offer. But at least there were no "professional escorts" (that we knew of anyway).

Unlike dinner, where two girls take the table next to ours and all I can think is "Wow. That's a short skirt. Wow. That's a lot of makeup. Wow. They look like hookers." The rest of our table assures me that, indeed, they are working. I'm all "Noooooooo. For real? Are you guys serious?" And they're all "Yes. We're serious. Now quit staring before they send us a bill." Or as Suze hilariously put it on her blog, "Heather was the only one of us who didn't think the girls sitting on our right would give our husbands a blow job for a tenner, but thankfully she took my word".

Hookers or none, our Turkish dinner was ah-maz-ing.

The next day's weather was infinitely less wintry so we took advantage and hit the trails of Delamere Forest with Rocky the Wonder Dog.

I know many of my readers also read Suze's blog and will know what happened next. But for those who don't, I'll give a very short recap. Rocky meets another dog. They sniff and frolick and do what dogs do. The other dog's owner was ready to go and attempted to shoo Rocky away...by grabbing him by the collar...around his neck. Rocky didn't appreciate being manhandled by a stranger and gave a growl. At which point the asshole kicked Rocky. Pretty hard. And that's about all I want to say about that because it makes me very angry to think about it.

I ask you, what sort of wanker would kick this pup?

Ok, so he is a bit of a napkin thief...

But come on! Look at that face!

We were all in a bit of shock but try to move on and enjoy the rest of our walk and subsequent pub lunch.

Later, back at Hostel del Phuze, the party really gets cranking. Pipe down, ladies!

Saturday evening was spent watching winter Olympics, eating, boozing and gaming. A very competitive game of Mr. & Mrs. (The Newleywed Game) ends unsatisfyingly in a draw. I blame it all on Ewan McGregor. Really I do. Jason and I owned the final round, with the exception of one solitary question. Which of the following names would your wife say she likes best? Oliver, Ewan, Robbie or some other British name that I can't currently recall.

Well, everyone knows that Ewan McGregor is the love of my life. Well, at least he was. Until some photos surfaced last week of him and some twinkie prancing around Paris. Which would be fine. If he hadn't been MARRIED TO EVE FOR THE LAST FIFTEEN YEARS. (Honestly you guys, I'm way more broken up about this than I have a right to be. I'm still hoping for some miracle explanation.)

So, this question should have been a slam dunk for us. But knowing all this, Jason did not choose Ewan. And since I am still holding out hope for that miracle explanation that will wash this horror away, I did choose Ewan. And there you have it. That's how Ewan McGregor cost me my victory dance.

And really, that's the tragedy. Because my victory dances are epic. And yet, we were all deprived of this special moment. Thanks a lot, Ewan.

Sunday morning dawned very white. Sometime during the night, about four inches of snow had fallen. And Jason Rocky could only take so much indoor play time.

So we borrowed some Wellies from the hotel's supply closet and all set off to play.

It didn't take long for a snowball fight to ensue. Nor did it take long for that smirk to be wiped off my face....

...with a snowball.




We thought Suze had had enough and was fashioning a giant snow ball to catapult at someone, but really, she was just starting work on a snow dog.

Err? Snow...bunny? I try to help by plopping a snowball on the bum for his "cottontail". Suze despairs.

Errr? Snow...cat? Phil jumps in with some twigs for whiskers. Suze despairs further.

Woah! Okay already! We believe you! We believe you! No need to attempt to fashion some doggy "biscuits" in order to convince us.

So, snow bunnycatdog finally completed, Jason offers to take a family portrait. Little did they know, the Sangers had joined forces and prepared a surprise attack. Jason held the camera up while I formed a snowball behind my back. Instead of the typical "cheese", Jason had them say "Let me have it!", at which point I launched the grenade at the unsuspecting victims.

The looks on their faces are 100% real shock and awe at seeing a snowball hurtling towards their heads. Jason and I jumped around high fiving and screaming "Sangers rule!!!" for about an hour.

Finally though, it was time to go as we had one last fabulous meal planned for lunch. But not before some good old fashioned puddle stomping.

Phuze and Jaser 4EVA


8 comments:

Suze - Cheshire, UK said...

Strange... I don't remember it *exactly* like that, but it's close enough. The Hostel Del Phuze is glad you enjoyed your stay and looks forward to your next visit.
PS You have been charged for bathrobes. We know you didn't take them, we're just *ssholes like that.

Heather said...

Jokes on you. We stole your credit card and left it with your front desk manager for "incidentals". Your front desk manager is out of his chewing phase, right?

Alice said...

Love. it.

Now I want to play the Newlywed Game. But not against y'all.

Y'all are some competitive mofo's!

Monique said...

Oh fuuuuuuuuuuuuun! Looks like you guys had a great time:) The snow looks beautiful!

Suze - Cheshire, UK said...

Knew it!! I have actually lost my bank card... not even kidding. Now I know where it went!!

geo said...

This is awesome! I love the many details of The Pentland Hotel, hilarious!

The Tune's said...

Looks like a fab time had by all!

peachesandcurry said...

That's some great hotel service you got there... love the wake up call bit.

And wtf with that guy kicking the dog?! What a punk! Sorry it happened on your walk!