tygerland.net

I have spent the last couple of days in Hertfordshire working out of our head office. Last night I stayed at the Holiday Inn in Aston Clinton, near the town of Aylesbury. It’s about 30 miles north of London.

The hotel was fine, even if the room was a little predictable. It had one of those featureless sofas that you only get in British hotels. You know the sort. Corduroy covered (or flowery canvas if you’re really unlucky), and almost exclusively in a hideous green. They are never quite deep enough to be comfortable, so you just sort of perch on them.

It had a TV with no 24hr news channel, an empty fridge, and a strange decorative ‘throw’ at the bottom of the bed. It was about 40cm wide, patented with flowers (what else?) and laid across like some sort of bed-scarf. I don’t do pointless decorative touches so I threw it in a corner.

There were also leaflets from the hotelier everywhere, even on my pillow (no chocolate though).

At 9 pm I was lying on my bed eating a Sainsbury’s falafel and houmous tortilla wrap. I decided this Greek-inspired snack was rubbish and hit the hotel bar. A pint cost £3.30. Is this how much beer costs now? I have no idea. I usually only drink beer on the continent, preferring wine or scotch here in the UK (unless it’s with a curry and then the cost gets lost in the bill). But £3.30 seems a bit steep to me for a pint of the Caffrey’s. I also ordered the house burger. Yes, I know it’s not healthy to eat a burger so late in the evening, but Mrs. tyger wasn’t around so I decided to indulge.

Why the fuck do they put mayonnaise on a burger? Don’t get me wrong, I like mayo; but mayo has its place. And that’s not on a burger. A chicken burger perhaps, but not beef, NEVER BEEF!

Relish, mustard, and even ketchup are perfect accompaniments for a burger. Just because a burger is dressed with a little lettuce and tomato, people feel compelled to pour mayo all over it.

Why?

Does one have mayo with one’s steak? No, one fucking doesn’t. So why the bejeezus do they put it on burgers? It makes me so unbelievably angry. I scraped the mayo off the beef patty and threw away the bottom half of the bun. I had a good mind to throw the soggy bread at the bastard who ruined the burger, but the ‘chef’ wasn’t to be found. Wanker.

Thoroughly pissed off at the mayo episode, I decided to grab my laptop and go online with the hotel’s Wi-Fi service. I pulled out my Mac and clicked on the browser. £15 for 24 hrs of ‘high speed’ Wi-Fi access. What the fuck? £15? I browsed through the options. It was £6 for an hour’s internet access. I’m sorry dear readers, I do love you all, but even you’re not worth £6 an hour. I expect a 20-minute massage and full sex for that sort of money (I know, I’m cheap).

The one thing they did offer FOC was a copy of the Independent. I hate the Indi. Ever since they went tabloid I find the whole experience utterly painful. The pages are chaotic compared to the elegance of The Guardian’s Berliner format. I spent 20 minutes reading the sports section, then got frustrated at an Op-Ed article and decided I’d had enough.

Drunk; I retired my room to listen to music on my iPod very loud.