It's Not Camp, It's Vile

As any girl will tell, you there's a lot to be said for the right hotel, especially when you're up for enjoying your Big Night Out.

 

Obviously luxury has its price; after all, you don't expect satin sheets, a chocolate on the pillow, complimentary fancy soaps and a state of the art hairdryer (not forgetting a top-notch cooked breakfast complete with hash browns) for £19.99.

 

Yet on the whole it shouldn't be impossible to find a hotel that provides a decent, cheerful service and manage to conjure up towels which are neither threadbare nor the size of a Balinese dancing girl's miniskirt.

 

A bar where they don't charge the earth or call last orders at around 10 o'clock is always nice too.

 

Of course, sometimes you just have to accept that you've stumbled into a less salubrious version of the Bates Motel, accept that you're being fleeced, sip your drink quietly and then commit your thoughts to verse...

 

I'm just a happy crazy girl

I've danced all around the world

I've stayed up til dawn in high heeled shoes

But I've stayed nowhere near as vile

As the god-damned Campanile

It gives a happy girl nothing but the blues

 

 Well there's bloodstains on the floor

And the mould climbs up the wall

And the sheets are more than 50 shades of grey

Their precious towels are frayed and old

Plus the water's always cold

And it's guaranteed you won't enjoy your stay

 

As for the Campanile's own bar

I'd sooner sit out in the car

And just sip diesel to keep out the chill

Their Chardonnay's not sweet it's sour

They call last orders at an early hour

And the prices are sure to make you ill

 

Now it's been said that I'm a tramp

But I won't go back to the camp

I want no more third rate hospitality

Cos I'm sick of high price drinks

And the service really stinks

It ain't good enough for a glam TV