I arrived in Wolverhampton late this evening, as I'm doing a small part in a short film here tomorrow.
I had hoped to have a drink with some of the crew tonight, but they were predictably running late and were working into the night, so instead I was taken to my hotel. I was pretty tired, so didn't mind too much.
It's a low budget affair and so the hotel was unpretentious and homely and cheap. I was shown around by the friendly owner, with slightly too starey eyes. As I got to my tiny room he pointed out the amenities (which included a Kit-Kat like biscuit called a Tandem. Never seen one of those before. Can't tell you how it was. I no longer eat chocolate. Witness the smugness of the ex-addict), and then said cheerily, though a little close to my face (but then the room was so small it was hard to avoid this), "And remember if you don't ask then we can't help."
It was still before ten o clock and I didn't fancy going to bed yet and nor did I want to eat the tandem biscuit, so I went down to the spacious lounge downstairs. I still had yesterday's Warming Up to write and so I took my computer with me (it is my old laptop, which is a bit dodgy, though not as dodgy as my new laptop which had pretty much conked out just before I left home).
The lounge smelt extremely stongly of artificial pine fragrance. I assumed that this was probably because the room had one of those plug in fragrance dispensers that are designed to mask unpleasant smells, but to be honest it was such an unpleasant smell that I would have preferred to smell whatever unpleasant smell it was that they were attempting to mask. I was alone in the lounge, though the TV was on and the final of Fame Academy had just started. I got a beer from the bar (which rather quaintly operated on a system of trust - you had to make a note of what you took from it. I applaud such faith in human nature and dutifully noted my purchase of one Carlsberg lager at £1.50). Then I sat down at the back of the room so I could be near a plug and settled down to write about my amusing adventures on the Matthew Wright show, whilst keeping half an eye on the Fame Academy Show so I could find out who had won.
I haven't been watching Fame Academy and have very little interest in it, but I just wanted to see if Alex won, which is what I wanted, despite not being interested and never having seen it, not even for a second. But I like Alex and I want to marry her and I'm pretty certain that if I ever meet her, she will feel exactly the same way about me. I can see absolutely no reason why that shouldn't be the case.
Just as I was wondering if saying that Matthew Wright was the size of an ant and part of a Matthew Wright faced ant colony would cast doubts on the credibility of the rest of my otherwise true story, another guest entered the room. In fact he slumped in.
He was a middle aged, grey haired man, with a moustache and a sensible sweat shirt. His face had the appearance of a face that had not smiled or expressed itself in any major way in the last twenty years. He seemed not to notice me, but the lounge wasn't that big and despite my attempts to engage him with a smile he studiously ignored me. He sat on a sofa between me and the TV.
He must have been aware of me by now as my fingers were busily typing away on my keyboard, and there seemed to be a flicker of a look behind him. But he still didn't say hello.
Fair enough, maybe he wanted to enjoy his Saturday evening in a small, not entirely pleasant hotel in Wolverhampton drinking beer on his own. I know I did. Sharing the experience with someone else would have made it seem even more tragic.
The man continued to pretend I didn't exist, but then did something I consider to be a bit rude. Without asking me, without even giving me a look, he started flicking through the TV channels. Now, maybe he assumed that I was working, but even so all laws of decent society dictate that if you are the second man into a communal TV lounge and the TV is already on, then you must at least ask the first man, "Are you watching this?" before making any attempt to turn over.
If he had asked I would have said it was OK. My interest in Fame Academy starts and ends with the fact that I am going to marry Alex (there is no reason why that won't happen. None at all) but a part of me was still keen to see what would happen. The woman was my future wife after all. If I met her and told her I had failed to see her triumph that might be enough to end the relationship before it even began (and that would be the only thing that could).
The man was brazen about his actions. He had no guilt whatsoever. He just kept flicking. I thought, "Who died and made him king? And was there body buried somewhere in this lounge, as that would explain why the plug in fragrance exuder was on such a high setting."
The anti-social moustachioed man settled on a drama about Hitler, perhaps recognising a kindred spirit in the anti-hero of that piece. Though Hitler was a bit more anti-social than this fella I suppose (however, I think he would still have asked before turning over the TV if he had ever had a TV and been in such a situation - he stayed in a lot of doss houses in his youth so would be aware of that etiquette. Despite not agreeing with many of the bad things Hitler did, I do at least admire him for my perceived impression that he would not have acted so rudely in a TV lounge. When I stand for Prime Minister in thirty years time, this comment will be used by my opponents to prove that I support Hitler. I don't. But even the most evil man has some good points.)
I was actually quite pleased about this. It was quite a good programme and I'd finished my work (I was trying to think of something to write about for today, but nothing was springing to mind.Little did I know that I was experiencing that warming up moment at that exact time. Oh the delicious irony.)
So I watched the programme from my seat. There was an odd tension in the air. A tension that could have been dissapated if the rude man had just acknowledged me when he came in.
In my wisdom I forgave him for his trespasses.
However, when the adverts came on, and despite the fact that I had finished working (and he knew I was there. He had looked around at me disapprovingly when I had squeezed my can and made a clank with it), he turned the sound down. Maybe I would have liked to have watched the adverts. Just cos he didn't want to hear the messages they were giving out didn't mean he had the right to prevent me.
Eventually I became so annoyed by his strange behaviour that I went to watch the last part of the Hitler drama in my cell... I mean my room. I flicked over the channels (which was acceptable behaviour as I was alone) to see if I could catch the end of Fame Academy. But Parkinson was on. Now I'd never know if Alex had won.
When I finally meet her I'll have to say, "So, well done or possibly bad luck in the Academy" and she'll know I didn't see it and then she won't marry me for sure.
And it will all be that moustachioed man's fault.
Well that and the fact that she's a lezzer.
