A night in the Premier Inn.

My new vocation as a travelling video-journalist took me to the heady heights of Watford North on Thursday, to the nations favorite budget hotel, the
 Premier Inn.

I was excited. A night in a hotel, hand over the company credit card, grab a full english breakfast in the morning - how was this not going to be at least a satisfactory Thursday night? My anticipation reached its zenith as we pulled into the car park to discover the hotel was nestled inbetween a TGI Friday's AND a MacDonalds. We were here at last, with everything on our hotel doorstep. The Premier Inn logo is a gentle, luminescent moon which looked near perfect when set against the bright yellow of the famous golden arches, both stood side by side, the big sleep meets the big mac. 

We checked in. There was no need for a concierge at this hotel, I thought of asking where the nearest McDonalds was, but considered that it might be a level of sarcasm too testing for this receptionist. The cameraman (Sayed) was currently in fasting mode during the month of Ramadan, and requested a wake-up call at 4am for when he was due to break his fast. The receptionist eyed him suspiciously and said "Oh, yes, 4am sir, I'm sure...". Clearly she suspected him of requesting a 4am call so that he could wake up and take care of some personal business, of a strictly non-religious nature. We had a little laugh and then went our separate ways. 

The hotel room was uniform, clean and empty. If you're already getting the sense that my enthusiasm was starting to ebb, then you're exactly right. Staying in a hotel room on

 your own just doesn't hold the same appeal. I unpacked my toothbrush and it looked odd on its own in a glass next to the sink. The TV was small, and an abundance of mirrors gave the room a slightly creepy expansion. Pulling back the sheets and getting into bed, I decided to retrieve the toothbrush from the bathroom to save it from its lonely existence in there. 

I'm quite positive that staying in this hotel room with another person (I have someone in mind, no, not CR) would have been a genuinely fun experience. The bed was comfortable, the space was a large one, but all of these details dwarfed me when I was left on my own. 

I struggled to get to sleep, clutching my toothbrush, one eye on the door, half-expecting a raid. 

It never came though, the night passed without event and the morning came once more. My attention had now turned to the breakfast. They had informed me at check-in that breakfast (all you can eat buffet = heavenly words) was served in TGI Fridays. And it was actually Friday. What a stroke of luck. The excitement had returned to this event once again. In the wake of the previous night's disappointment, I didn't want to rush things again like a child on christmas morning, excitedly unwrapping his presents at 6am only to be left bored by 10am. So I took a shower, lay on the bed for a while, watched an early morning episode of Frasier. 

As an aside, I absolutely love Frasier. I think it's hilarious and witty. But I declare this love whilst realising that it is part of a series of middle-age sitcoms that reveal I watch the sort of television only someone in their middle fifties might watch. Others watch Family Guy and laugh out loud, I just don't get it. Some watch hip and trendy shows like Arrested Development, but I miss the youthful humour. You could surmise that the type of sitcom you watch reveals a lot about the type of person you are. If this is true, what do Frasier, Will and Grace, and Friends reveal about me?

After a morning of middle-age television, I arrived at TGI Fridays, ready for my breakfast and full of friday feeling. 

The simple and crushing fact is this: TGI Friday's is not a good place to eat at 8am. Even on a Friday. It has nothing of the joy that you might find of an evening time. There are no silly waiters whisking around with a hundred badges attached to their braces - how stupid they look, but also how cool. Around the walls, in block hollywood font there are quotes like "It's always Friday at Fridays",  and "Live the dream." American dream memorabilia lines the walls, brazenly stuck on as ornaments - extremely tacky, but once again, so very cool. The drinks are "botomless" at TGI Fridays, allowing you to request as many drinks as you want. All of this joy, all of these wonderful attributes, they all disappear at 8am. 

I quickly finished a bowl of cereal, and the waitress (devoid of badges) came over to take my order. I asked for a full english breakfast. It came too quickly, leading me to believe that someone must have ordered and left, allowing me to have their unwanted breakfast. Not that I wanted it either, the eggs were rock hard, the sausages tasted funny and the beans already had a crust. I cried out for a burger, some friday fries and a botomless diet coke. 

None of these things were forthcoming. The hotel stay-over had been a disaster. Better luck next time I thought, a lesson learnt. Rather upsettingly, I shall never view TGI Friday's in the same light ever again. 

To Do: Give TGI Friday's a grace period, to allow it and me to overcome our difficult experience together.