Our dear friends Mel and Sheila took us out for the day to enjoy a country drive and some honest pub grub.
The food was excellent and, to my liking, came in ample measure.
I had started to feel that, in inverse proportion to my waistline, food size had reduced over the last few years.
But here in this Yorkshire country pub the landlady was bucking the trend.
The hotel we visited a few weeks earlier was the opposite end of the spectrum; I was served a small piece of lamb laying on a miniscule amount of mash. The plate also contained two baby carrots and only one, yes one, roast potato.
My wife tried to subdue my inner outrage at such injustice by saying it was the way that the top chefs did it these days.
Then it struck me: what an incredible marketing campaign these resteratuers have waged recently. What a master stroke by these master chefs.
They have convinced the british public that fine dining is when you pay more money for less food.
Never has such economic brilliance been seen since the invention of the mini skirt.
Well this proud northerner has seen through their plan and intends to revolt by ordering a side dish of chips with every meal I have in one of these psuedo-chic establisments.
In addition to this I shall demand proper gravy when they try to offer my a smudge of, what the menus describe as, jus.
Gordon Ramsey might like to tell us that his 'F' word stands for food but we now know it means the customer is a Fool.
It is time for a revolution: up and down the country citezans no longer need to stifle an exclamation of 'is that it?' when offered a large plate with a solitary island of food in the middle.
One roast potato! I ask you.
Perhaps the best response when faced with such paucity would be to say 'if I had wanted a starter I would have ordered one'.
If the menu says that your meat comes on a bed of mash ask them for a king size mattress.
One roast potato! I ask you.
Human Bed Warmers Wanted For Hotel
When I was a kid we thought it was the height of extravagance to be offered a melon starter whilst on holiday at an average B&B in Prestatyn. Nowadays we even have the option of a pre-main course before our breakfast. During our recent hotel stay we had the choice of five different types of fruit before we hit the cereal bar. This was followed by a full English breakfast and a rack of toast and jam.
Back in the sixties the idea of having an en-suite toilet or a TV in your room would not have even entered our heads but now it seems to be the minimum standard; even the most budget of hotels offer tea & coffee making facilities, trouser press, and a telephone.
Well, hot on the heels of the turn down service and the chocolate on your pillow comes the Human Hot Water Bottle. That's right! Hotel chain Holiday Inn are trailing a new scheme to offer guest the option to have their bed warmed by a staff member before retiring for the evening.
Before your brain goes in to overdrive let me tell you that the employee first dons a full fleece bed suit before starting the warming process, and leaves the room before you get into bed. That's alright then!
Back in the years of my childhood you were lucky to be offered an extra blanket to stave off the nighttime chills. On the plus side it was the age of the nylon bed sheet, an invention that offered a full electrical storm of static every time you moved an arm.
The thought that humans have now evolved to need other people to warm their beds for them before they can rest seems somewhat ridiculous.
What next? Bedtime stories for the weary traveller, someone to cut your food up before your eat it, or perhaps a shoelace tying service. Bed warming seems to just a step to far.
Although I am not sure that I would want someone warming up my bed before I go to sleep it does strike me that it would be an incredible job to have. I wonder what the qualifications are.
You would imagine there to be a minimum height for the job otherwise the bed wouldn't get fully warmed. Even though I am probably big enough to meet the standard I am far too good at sleeping to be of any real use. Mrs M tells me that as soon as my head hits the pillow I start to snore in several octaves. A musical human hot water bottle; now there's a thought.
How big does your suitcase need to be for a two night stay?
Our recent trip across the Pennines was an enjoyable affair; not least because we stayed for two nights in a decent hotel.
A quick slice of net surfing, a seemingly out of date special offer code, and a cheeky telephone conversation with a person on reception and we managed to get a top suite in a good hotel for a basic price. I even wangled a free meal in the restaurant on the evening of our first night.
The weekend, in essence, belonged to Mrs M due to the Strictly Come Dancing tickets given to her by our daughters for Christmas.
This meant I felt committed to doing this her way; shopping for clothes, early morning swimming, and the largest suitcase available.
The fact that we were away for only two nights had no bearing on the number of clothes my bride decided to take. I would repeat the phrase 'only two nights' several times during the next 72 hours.
I was allowed a small corner of the available space but figured that I only needed one pair of trousers and three shirts to make the stay work. It's great being a fella.
I loaded the car with suitcase and laptop foolishly thinking my job was complete. I couldn't have been more wrong.
When I returned from the car my wife had assembled the following items that could not be fitted into the suitcase; make-up bag, hairdryer and straighteners, a six-pack of yoghurts, various toiletries, a handbag, and two extra pillows. (Both of these are for Mrs M - she says she uses them to cover her ears so that she cannot hear me snoring)
In addition to this, and I kid you not, my wife had included seven pairs of shoes (not including those that she was wearing).
I shoehorned the rest of these items into our tightly packed vehicle and we set off towards black-pudding country.
When we arrived at the hotel we signed in without taking our cases to reception; I didn't want them to think that we intended moving in for good.
Having unpacked and freshened up we headed out towards one of the area's biggest shopping centres and prepared for Mrs M to spend some Christmas money.
I got over the disappointment of not eating out my favourite Portuguese restaurant knowing that we had our table booked in the hotel for later that evening.
I took every opportunity of taking a seat having jarred my back lifting the oversized suitcase and wondered at the irony of the fact that the shopping expedition meant that my bride bought enough clothes not to have to wearing any of the items we brought. A fact that seemed completely lost on Mrs M.
