Sunday, 7 March 2010


It's the day after the 50th birthday party in Morecambe and the dance routine went down a storm. The hostess loved it although her face drained of colour when I dragged her up to dance it with us. Nurses know how to party and boy, there were plenty of nurses in full party mode last night.

I decided that I'd stay over in Lancaster for the party and booked myself into a swanky little contemporary hotel. What it is about swanky hotel bedrooms that makes them so decadent? My room had a huge bed, white cotton sheets, a flat screen tv and a walk-in glass surrounded shower in the bathroom. Sheer luxury is a power shower with a showerhead the size of a satellite dish. Unfortunately, the very nice smellies were screwed to the walls, so I didn't manage to stock up on the usual bath oils, shower gels and shower caps. I had a good night's sleep followed by my favourite bit of staying in a hotel... the breakfast.

As sad as this sounds, there is not much more in life than gives me more pleasure than a Sunday morning cooked breakfast. I suppose it comes from years of sticking a piece of toast down my neck on the way out to work. This morning's breakfast surpassed all expectations. Full English breakfast with toast, croissants, juice, cornflakes and a cafetiere of coffee leisurely taken with a glance over the Sunday newspapers. Heaven. Rolled out of the dining room and loosened my belt straining to hold up my jeans before paying and bidding a fond farewell to Lancaster before heading off home.

On the drive home I started remembering our antics last night driving through Morecambe wearing our false handlebar moustaches.....

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