Confusion over whether I even had a booking when I was attempting to get my keys from staff who were not on site was only the beginning. I had an inkling of Fawlty Towers that proved to be premonitory gold. The pool had been filled in with dirt long before our arrival, so not being a tunnelling wombat, I was unable to partake. Sun-dried tomato and chicken gristle, a fallen screw and the butt ends of smoked joints lay on the long-uncleaned floor; tobacco cuttings on the mantel; and carpet tacks pointing up where the carpet had curled away from the wood on which to impale my foot. No soap even in the public toilet, much less the ensuite. The doona covers were not very absorbent, but they were the closet thing to towels we could find, short of using our next day's clothing. We were a little unsettled by what appeared to be a blood stain on the wall near where someone had apparently fallen heavily against the plasterboard. I imagined that the fall may have been precipitated by contact with the bare bayonets on the wall light fixture that had no shade to protect the unwary, and possibly stoned, traveller. On the positive side, if the previous occupant did meet his demise in the room at least the body had been removed, if not the evidence of his last meal. Oh, and no sign of tetanus from the carpet track obstacle course.
Caveat emptor.
