|This is my demure face.|
Look, truly, I am simply fabulous. Do not get snippy with me simply because your hair is decidedly less-than, or because you cannot afford the best Brazilian cocaine, or because you have an actual drudgey job as opposed to something delightfully nebulous like 'web consultant.' I cannot help it if generally speaking I just have things fall into my lap like glorious, perfectly-groomed dogs.
What I do find utterly unspeakable is when I'm invited to a hotel that looks delicious and find the accommodations -- well, rather like the equivalent of a shoddy blowout. This is not to say that the proletariat might not find the place squeakingly upmarket; I'm only saying there are standards, cupcake, and if you live your life by a different set, it is hardly my problem.
I do implore you, dear readers, to take opinions from the internet as -- well, opinions from the internet. Should you suddenly require me to have things like journalistic objectivity, I should think this would become the most stodgy, dreary page on the planet. Much like I presume that Liberty person's site must be.
When I write about somewhere I've been, it's me writing about somewhere I've been, you silly bourgeois sods. And while I quite naturally assume my readers are universally staying at filthy little Travelodges the world over, you must understand that when I vacation, it is with the assumption that I will be informed of any additional charges prior to their incurrance.
|Oh, dear God. This Travelodge is like something out of a prison movie. You poor sodding bastards.|
In short, if you'd like to stay in Cornwall and lose some pesky weight, this may be right in your wheelhouse.
If you'd like me to be more objective, or suddenly to begin revealing all my secrets, well, then, you haven't been reading carefully enough. You don't get to know these things, you whiny little meat pasties.