“Have you stayed at a Premier Inn before?”, asked the gorgeous creature behind the desk… as she checked me in.
“Yes, just once or twice”, I replied… as I checked her out.
“Ahh, so you’re aware of our Goodnight Guarantee?”
“Yep. If I don’t get a good night’s sleep, then I get all my money back. And a holiday in the Seychelles. And a car. And a speedboat.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s quite that good!” she said, with a smile so huge it lit up the entire reception area.
I awoke this morning at about 11, having got to bed at 6 after a slow, but ultimately successful, night’s work. Once showered and dressed, I decided I needed to do a spot of shopping, as I was hungry and in need of sustenance.
Putting my coat on, I strode down to reception, where I was pleased to see that the vision of loveliness was once again on duty.
“I need to do some shopping. Is there a Halfords and maybe a supermarket around here?” I asked, doing my best not to be too flirty with it. For chris’sakes, I’m old enough to be her da… er, big brother!
She gave me some directions and I found the shops easily enough.
The reason for my visit to Halfords, is because I was after a bigger saddle for my pert little arse to sit on when I do the big bike ride thing this weekend.
I picked up the biggest saddle I could find and took it to the till. The girl there took my money and then asked “Are you doing the London to Brighton this weekend, by any chance?”
I explained that I was indeed doing it and was suffering from severe saddle soreness during my training rides… hence the purchase of a bigger saddle.
“Why don’t you buy some proper cycling shorts”, she suggested, “with padding in them.”
Again I explained that I’d already done so and that whilst it was an improvement, there was still a lot of soreness.
“Maybe you need thicker padding in there”, she said. “May I make a suggestion? Try putting several sanitary towels in the gusset. I’ve done the ride lots of times and that’s what I always use. Works a treat.”
I promised her that I’d give it some thought.
I then popped into the supermarket next door to get some milk and a danish pastry for breakfast, and just happened to find myself passing through the feminine hygiene aisle on my way to the self-service checkout.
I stopped briefly to check out the bewildering array of towels on offer. Would I need “Super Absorbent”, “Heavy Flow”, “Scented” or just plain “Regular”? And what about “wings”? Would they help?
And, as well as riding a bike, would I then – as the adverts inferred – also be able to do skateboarding and rock climbing?
Having given it some thought – as I’d promised – I decided to not bother with the extra padding and just hope that the the bigger saddle and the padded shorts would be enough to stop my arse feeling like I have a permanent case of the farmers.
Back at the hotel, the face that could launch a thousand reception desks, looked up from her paperwork and gave me that big, wonderful smile of hers. “Hello Mr Masher”, she said. “Did you get what you wanted?”
I looked at the badge pinned to her ample bosom. “Here to help”, it said, and I toyed momentarily with asking her for some advice on sanitary towels.
But I couldn’t.