The three bears

It took so long for Mordino to stop snickering like a Japanese schoolgirl with her knickers past her knees that I slipped into a rage. Not because my bag was nicked. Not because I was fending off pneumonia with the warmth from my palms. But because I could see that the skinny, toothless feck thought he had the moral advantage.*

The jacket he finally gave me did little for the situation, bar injecting the necessary confidence for my return to the lobby. The Lovely Lorna (79) was still nowhere near her station so I helped myself to a key – brightly labelled ‘MASTER’ – and headed for the hall.

The first room I opened was empty, the bed was made and the wardrobe was open and waiting for it’s guests to arrive. The second room was also empty, though there was a short leather skirt and a tank top folded into a neat pile by the window. (I won’t lie to you. Times were hard and it did cross my mind.) The bed in the next room was too hard so I fecked off to my own floor to try my luck in the rooms upstairs and avoid turning into Goldilocks.

It was harder to find an empty room on this floor – I listened to the mumblings, whispers, moans, groans and sweet nothings of the other guests. The room next to my own seemed empty and without any further invitation I headed for the wardrobe. I nearly cried when I saw the trousers and shirt inside the flimsy cabinet. It wasn’t until I had one leg already into the pair of grey pinstripe slacks that a woman’s voice called out from the bathroom.

‘Jack? Is that you?’

So this is how these situations manifest themselves. I had a sudden rush of empathy to my dwarf invader. There was also the curiosity to investigate whom the voice belonged. I never did get the chance to have a peep though as Jack walked in from the hallway and his companion, toweled to spare her dignity, walked out from the bathroom and screamed.

‘I can explain,’ I said and Jack punched me.

* It would be unfair not to point out, that on average, my turning up naked in a bar would have been the result of some debauched act of my own creation. For once, this was not the case.

Settling in nicely

Bollocks. Only one bed.

I drop my bag in a corner and head for the tub. At times like this there is little more a man can do than soak for an hour or three. The one bed means that in the course of tonight Mordino will have to sort himself out with some accommodation. For now it is time to become reacquainted with the smell of ylang ylang.

The noise of the bedroom door woke me from my decent, semi-submerged nap. The bubbles tickle under the nose, very soothing. I see a squat shadow dart past the bathroom door and into the bedroom and gingerly step out of the bath in pursuit.

‘Hello,’ I announce, standing in the doorway. There is a short bearded bloke pulling my bag onto his back.

‘Bliddy hell. They said nowt about anyone in here,’ he garbled, eyeing me from the far corner before screwing up his face. ‘Put some clothes on.’

Before I could argue that there was in fact ’someone in here’, and justifiably naked in my own room, the git ran past me. Not being one to let my bags run away from me, I gave chase, calculating that as the taller of the two I would catch up with him in a jiffy.

My mathematics under duress not being what it should be he got away, but not before I followed him down the stairwell and back out through the foyer. It was the sudden cold air that did it, froze things up.

Livid, I walked back into the hotel. The reception was unattended so I was forced to brazenly walk toward the bar, cupping the jewels for some dignity.

I called to Mordino from the door but he was preoccupied by a man in spats.