As I’m sure you are both aware, Premier Inn offers a Good Night Guarantee to its paying guests. We’ve all seen Lenny Henry burying his fat face into a pillow ready for the best sleep he’s ever had.
I’ve recounted some of my many, many stays at Premier Inn over the years on this very blog, but, despite the occasional bad night, I’ve never once invoked the GNG clause.
In fact, I tend to make a bit of joke of it. “Are you aware of our Good Night Guarantee?” I’m usually asked as I check-in, despite the fact that I am paying with a Premier Inn Business Account card.
“Yes”, I’ll say, “if I don’t get a good night’s sleep, I get all my money back.
And a holiday in the Seychelles.
And a speedboat.”
But as I say, despite the odd sleepless night, I’ve never yet asked for my money back. Not that it would benefit me if I did, as the company I work own the account.
Now, on Monday night I stayed in Huddersfield. No problems with the hotel or the accommodation: big comfy bed and when I hit the sack – knackered as I was – I was fast asleep within seconds.
Five minutes later though, I was awoken by the sound of the fire alarm… and crikey, them things could wake the dead!
I lay there wondering if it was a false alarm, which it must have been, because 30 seconds later it stopped.
I rolled over and easily fell back into my slumber, dog-tired as I was.
A few minutes later it went off again and again I lay there listening to its high-pitched, two-tone warbling. Thankfully, it stopped after about half a minute.
This time however, I couldn’t get straight back to sleep – maybe I was half-expecting it to go off again, I don’t know, but it took ages beforeÂ I dozed off again.
The following morning, the receptionist apologised as I checked out. All down to a guest having a shower and the steam setting off the smoke detector.
Last night I stayed in Stafford. Unbelievably, I was once again dragged from the arms of MorpheusÂ by the godforsaken racket of the fire alarm in my room… only, this one had a bright flashing light as well!
I buried my head under the blanket and waited for it to stop.
It didn’t. Wearily I fell out of the bed and threw on a t-shirt and some trousers, slipped my feet into my trainers and headed out. The corridor was full of guests all wandering around, looking dazed and bewildered, seemingly not sure of what to do.Â God help us if there really was a fire.
I headed out the fire exit and into the car park where there was already a crowd of people standing around in pyjamas, dressing gowns and in various guisesÂ of night-time attire.
It was about midnight and we stood there for 15 minutes or so, shivering, whilst the hotel staff frantically ran in and out trying to find someone who knew how to shut the damn thing off.
Eventually, the right key was found and we were all allowed back in. It took me ‘kin ages to get back to sleep though.
This time it was all down to a guest using an excessive amount of body spray.
Again, I didn’t bother with the Good Night Guarantee, but if they send me one of those “How was your stay?” emails, I’ll be letting Lenny have it with both barrels.