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Friday, 29 July 2016

In which One isn't Mrs Danvers...

That's me, that is, Dear Reader...
Following my aborted mission to get a more suitable means of employment, thereby returning to the painting.

Off One biffed to the Rock in Waterrow for an interview regarding a job as 'Housekeeper'.
'Ooooh, could be quite fun', thought One, imagining One as Mrs Danvers (Google it you morons) gazing menacingly out over the countryside.
But, no, 'twas not to be...
One had been prior warned by One's chum at the Shit-Face that the proprietors were rather dour, miserable old so and so's but One prefers to determine the cut of another's jib Oneself.

But Nana was indeed correct and the pitiable piece that ushered One over the threshold was indeed a sour-faced article.

She regarded One with immediate suspicion, viewing One in the crisp morning light rather than the fairground, Vaseline smeared looking glass One uses,   asking things like...
'Can you lift heavy bags of laundry?'
'How is your back?' (A lot more pleasant to regard than her front, I can tell you!)
'Are you fast?' (Well, I have been in the past, but me gusset's in retirement now!)

Any road up, she grabbed some keys in the manner of a chatelaine, and we ascended the stairs to view the rooms.
One was suitably underwhelmed by the place.  Not the rooms, exactly, but you know how sometimes a place is just dead, completely devoid of atmosphere and the air thick and fetid as candyfloss, well, that's the impression One had.
Nothing flowed.  The entire place had the feel of random showrooms attached to each other.
Why, even the residents' lounge (yes, only airports and hotels have lounges, you ill-educated twonks)
that was set up for shooting parties had a moist and sticky miasma clinging to it.
Shooting parties?  The only evidence for this was the scattering of Courthouse, Wivey cushions with prints of random game on them, the smaller, low cost ones, of course.

'This is where The Daily Mail stayed,' says she, opening the door to a pretty average sort of space.
'Until you work in hospitality, you don't realise how rude the public are,' she went on.....and on.....
'Twould appear that some ungrateful coves had had the temerity to criticise a 'bathroom' for not having a bath in it.  One would have thought that made it a 'shower' room, but no matter, One shan't be lathering One's twinkle up in there in the near future.
One was nonplussed by the venom with which these criticisms were recounted.  One, instead, might have thought, 'hang on a mo, maybe they've got a point,' but, hey, some people are never in the wrong.

'Is there anything you'd like to ask?' queried she when we got back to the uninviting bar.
'Yes,' countered One, 'Are you a happy team?'

And that put the tin hat on it really, Dear Reader.

One could feel their beady eyes boring into One's departing back as One left the scene....




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