Well we survived our weekend in Morecambe, flying lizards (see previous post from fatsally), high-as-a-kite surfers, my wife saying the “f” word in front of our Dear Old Mum and all.
The highlight of the weekend for me apart from our gorgeous blonde waitress (oooh she was gorgeous) was our visit for morning coffee on Sunday to Morecambe’s art deco architectural treasure The Midland Hotel. Refurbished at enormous cost to vie with the statue of Eric Morecambe as the town’s principal tourist attraction, the hotel’s blurb promises a taste of a more elegant age. The trip was part nostalgia, Mum spent her honeymoon in that hotel, part Siege Perilous - Mum’s Arthurian quest to find a decent cup of tea at 1950s prices.
What we found was a rather stark, unfinished looking lobby crowded with seemingly bewildered elderly people who might have been looking for a door that led to the 1950s.
When we eventually found a counter where coffee was available it was in a purple and red themed room that looked as if it has been designed by Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen while he was on a bad acid trip. Sitting on the banquettes was an adventured in itself, the seats were so narrow they mush have been designed for size zero bottoms. Or perhaps they were all half-arsed in the 1950s. Prices were far from 1950s though and it cost £18 for six cups of coffee one of which never arrived.
And after all that there was not an Alan Bennett character in sight.
All in all the weekend lived up to expectations. Apart from the gorgeous blonde waitress who served my meal in the restaurant on Saturday night. Did I mention she was gorgeous?
