Live from Crieff

I stayed in a hotel room in Crieff last night. Well, yesterday evening. I actually spent most of the night in the lobby.

See, my key card hilariously decided to stop working after closing hours, and also after “Rebecca goes into a sleep from which she can only be awoken by ancient Aztec magic” hours . There was no answer from Rebecca’s phone and there’s only so much you can knock on a door before you start imagining angry neighbours lodging complaints. The fear that you’ve forgotten your room number and are knocking on a stranger’s door at 1.45am also sets in pretty quickly. Left with little recourse, I decided to move down to the depressingly empty lobby and keep trying the phone while keeping a diary of my thoughts. What follows is the uncut live feed of my night trapped outside a hotel room.


its half two in the morning and I have been locked out of my hotel room. I have called Rebecca probably about 30 times. no answer. Can’t blame her, only an idiot would be awake at this time. Playing games and refreshing Facebook, bored. Spar?

(Note:  At this point, I left the hotel in search of snacks at a Spar ten minutes away)


very nice houses here. Thought one might’ve been a graveyard, interesting place to check out. wasn’t. Someone’s monstrous garden. Lifeless out here. This is what they mean when they say safe streets.


all the houses have names here. “I am a home not a number.” They have names like Rosemary Cottage and Fernbridge but one of them is called One Tree Hill I swear to god.


spar is closed. Of course it is. I’m fucking freezing, only wearing jacket. Starving. I’m lost and I hope someone isn’t looking out their window at some wretched fool on the corner typing into their phone.


I’m pretty sure I passed this church on the way here. I think I’m safe. But it’s silent here. There are ghosts in that church. Keep moving.


the only thing that could cut my nipples right now is other, colder nipples. That’s a reference to diamonds and I’m not sure anyone will get it. My nipples are cold. I hope the ghosts from the church aren’t following me.


I have made it back to the hotel on gut instinct. If there are people watching on cctv they must be very confused by the twat who knows the front door code but sits in the lobby. Rebecca still isn’t picking up her phone. I am facing the increasingly likely possibility of spending the entire night sitting in this chair. At least I won’t die of exposure.


fell asleep in chair. sort of. lying on couch now. left shoes on fuck you hotel


success.  back in bed. sleep

I awoke 2 hours later to a delicious breakfast of sausages, bacon, black pudding and a fried egg. Since then, I’ve had a pretty great day, which just further proves that there’s nothing a fry-up can’t cure, not even a night spent alone in a hotel lobby with nothing to do.