Travels without my comb

Odd hotel, this one. I mean, it’s in the shadow of Z’ha’dum the Berlaymont, and is thus quite business-like. But it has one or two little quirks.

All the rooms are twins; to make up a Queen-sized bed, they push the two singles together and change the matress. Fine, but they leave you with the two single duvets, so that you have to lie on one side of the bed or the other (unless it’s blazingly warm and you sleep on top), otherwise your feet stick out of the sides.

The barman looks like Quentin Willson, but is none the worse for this. Oh, and I have access to the decking (only the four rooms on my side seem to have this), so I’ll shortly be out there while finishing off reading Frontline.

As I’m supposed to be on holiday, and thus relaxing, I thought I’d try out the hotel’s Relax Spa. Last time I tried this was in Oasis (now CenterParcs Whinfell Forest). That involved sitting in a steam room big enough for 10 or 15 large bodies, with hot, scented air blown through pipes every few minutes. Thence to an aromatherapy massage, in a darkened room with relaxing music in the background.

Here, we have a wooden sauna built for skinnies only, and broken egg-timer clocks, so you couldn’t judge how long you’d been in there. Nice, but different. Thence to the massage, in a partitioned-off area near the loungers, which was under bright lights and had the accompanying sounds of the workmen trying to get the swimming pool and all its functions working properly. As for the massage itself… I don’t think her massaging my paunch was as relaxing as she thought it might be. Still… when in Brussels…

And the comb? It was the one thing I couldn’t replace of the items I forget when I left Leeds (the others were toothpaste and my Oyster prepay card). But thanks to Helen at Blades, I got a haircut before I left, so I can just wash, towel and go!

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