A Second Witness

I had already reviewed this place once. When friends unknowingly visited the same restaurant four days later, they endured the very same treatment, bad manners in person, their time wasted, and warm words only for the audience online. So much for "dignity and respect, always".

A Reunion and a Request

Having met up with friends I had not seen in forty years at the Jerry Eze event, we were invited to their Airbnb apartment the following evening. My best friend, being the cousin of the lady, was asked to gather ideas on where to find Nigerian takeaway meals.

Given where they were staying, I looked up nearby locations for deliveries, unaware that they intended to collect the food themselves. My friend, already familiar with my experience at the restaurant the week before, felt that it was my exacting standards, rather than poor customer service, that had informed my unfavourable review of the place.

Against My Better Judgement

Whilst I disagreed, he prevailed upon me, and against my better judgement, I shared details of this place along with an alternative. As it was a Sunday, there was a possibility that the restaurant could fulfil an order placed early and collected later. We did not share anything else about my experience, so as to eliminate any bias towards the outfit.

They received the information after attending church in the early afternoon, and set off to collect the order in the late afternoon. It was a single order for the four of us: the old favourites of okra stew and semolina for my best friend and me, and egusi stew with pounded yam for our friends.

A Familiar Disappointment

They had their own ordeal: a bad attitude from the chef, who closed the door in their faces, whilst the manager who had cut off my call during the earlier episode now played the apologetic service provider, distancing himself from the situation whilst asking for a good review.

An AI-generated infographic on the blog content. (Click to enlarge.)

My friends had their time wasted. The food was not ready when they had agreed to collect it, and there were others also waiting, in what looked less like a busy day than a business accustomed to holding customers in hock once an order has been placed and no alternatives remain. Coupled with a lackadaisical manner, it amounted to taking on more than they could handle.

They ended up going to McDonald's for a bite, because they could not even get basic snack food elsewhere, before returning for a long wait to collect. More than an hour of the afternoon was lost on a business that has no concept of the value of time.

An Apology for the Audience

Their public reply, posted to my Google Maps review, read as contrite yet revealed itself as mere sophistry. They assured me that they "treat everyone with dignity and respect always", a claim my friends could comfortably refute, having had a door shut in their faces by the chef.

They were glad I thought the food good, gutted that I felt the call was dropped, and insistent that it was not from their end and that they had rung back before seeing the review.

Yet the warmth arrived only once the review was public. Had that courtesy been extended in the moment, my friends would have had a very different afternoon. An apology prompted by an audience is not service; it is damage control.

The Verdict

With a second, unconnected customer having had the very same experience, one can conclude that the first review was not off the mark. When people show you who they are the first time, that is who they are. Whilst I am still sparing them the ignominy of being named and shamed, they would never be recommended again.

The meal was passable, yet the okra stew never reached my expectations in aroma, taste, quality, or quantity; it was forgettable. Our friends fared no better: they had wanted egusi and were served efo riro instead, with pounded yam, and were offered an extra portion of pounded yam only on condition that they left a good review. It was another case of food advertised on the app proving unavailable once the order was placed.

To think I had suffered the indignity of excusing bad manners for the sake of good food, only to find that the food I really wanted did not make the grade. Best to blot it out of memory: a brief encounter to end all encounters.

Reference: my original review, "Essential Snobbery 101: Good Food Is No Substitute for Good Manners" (akinblog.nl, 23 September 2026).

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Essential Snobbery 101: Good Food Is No Substitute for Good Manners

A Daring Customer

I am that kind of customer, sometimes daring and adventurous. I have ordered prescription glasses online, and I have been fortunate enough to order clothes, suits, and shoes from a catalogue without the need to return them, because they fit.

Most people would prefer a brick-and-mortar shop or a high-street store for such articles, where they can try before they buy; the daring, for me, is in trusting that they will fit at all.

I rarely try on clothes in a fitting room, except for tailored suits, where I expect the service personnel to be knowledgeable about style, fit, comfort, and suitable choices. That is their métier. Whether I am buying blind from a catalogue or standing at a tailor's counter, the thread that runs through it all is the same: service.

Curiosity and Its Rewards

Walking down a street, I might find an ethnic goods shop and step inside, my curiosity piqued by a sense of nostalgia; the same goes for restaurants too. What I expect is friendliness, professionalism, and service. Our common familiarity, if we choose to converse in our own language, still requires that standard to be kept.

Nine years ago, I walked into such a shop in Edinburgh, and what a welcome I received. A smiling, affable proprietor, ready to assist, presided over an Aladdin's cave of mouthwatering and irresistible delicacies. Amidst all the pleasantries, I treated myself to ready meals and drinks, but I could not leave without taking pictures of the shop.

A Tale of Two Reviews

A few days before, in the same city, I had visited a Nigerian restaurant, and I had a worse time of it than Dr Foster's visit to Gloucester. The service was abysmal. I was not attended to when I arrived, the place was dirty, dishes had not been cleared from the tables, and the personnel were glum. I had travelled far, and I should have left.

I wrote about both experiences. I write reviews about forgettable and extraordinary things, rarely about anything in between.

An AI-generated infographic on the blog content. (Click to enlarge.)

I published a review on my blog, along with an accompanying Google Maps page, and the shop has since garnered over one million views. Every few months, I get messages from the proprietress thanking me, though I thank her simply for being good, and for being good at what she does.

Blog - Edinburgh: MaDeb African Shop (June 2017)

Choosing Where to Spend

There are businesses I have visited that have never had a return visit, for all sorts of reasons: unprofessionalism, bad customer service, bad manners, a lack of attention to detail, or lapses in honesty, probity, and integrity.

There is also food served so hot that it scalds the fingers, usually because it has just come out of a microwave, and service so tardy that by the time the food arrives you have lost your appetite and it goes home in a doggie bag.

Sometimes it is the mild infractions that speak volumes; cutting corners, or bad vibes. In the latter case, it might be a me rather than them issue. Just as any business can choose to whom it opens its doors, I have the option to choose to whom I give my custom.

The Okra Stew That Never Was

A sudden desire for some home food had me grazing through Deliveroo last week, and from the menu I chose okra stew and semolina, asun and fried fish. Some time after my order was accepted, I received a call: they had run out of okra stew. I settled for egusi stew, when I should have cancelled the order altogether, but the logistics of getting my money back, coupled with hunger, had me settle for less.

However, I was promised that okra stew would be available the next day, or later in the week. Before I placed my second order, I rang ahead to find out whether it was on offer, and it was not. I would not go for second best if I had not already ordered or paid for anything.

Today, I called again, hoping to get my preferred choice. As soon as the male voice heard the words "okra stew", he simply hung up. All he had to do was say that it was unavailable, or off the menu. Service is the first component of an enduring business.

Good Food, Bad Manners

I did have my eye on bigger orders after sampling those portions. I am a random customer who chose this outfit from a list of options, and I will not be placing orders here again; good food is no substitute for good manners. That was the sum of my review.

In my view, how I am treated as a stranger could well be the experience of others. I do not assume I was singled out for the best or the worst a business has to offer. Nor do I wait to express my opinion on a service; I was on their web page, tapping away, and that was the seed for this blog.

The Call That Saved a Name

Halfway through writing this, I placed an order for Italian food from Vapiano, a global chain, using a 40% voucher Deliveroo had offered against any order, to be used by the end of the month. I had not used Deliveroo in over four years until last week. The discount left scope for a generous tip for the courier.

Then came a phone call. It was the man from the restaurant where I had wanted okra stew, pleading that he was returning a missed call. There was enough elastic stretching the truth to turn a wristband into a waistband. He had answered my earlier call, and I had spoken more than ten words before he hung up; that could hardly be called a missed call.

It is likely he had read the review I posted on their web page, and that this call was meant to ameliorate, to soothe my feelings. I had to hear him out before I remonstrated. That call saved them from being named and shamed in this piece. I have to write of my experience, though, rather than of my expectations.

This is the sentiment that governs every review I have given or written, and it follows that notable quote from Maya Angelou: "People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." You rarely ever get another chance to improve on a bad impression.

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Essential Snobbery 101: Ritzy on Piccadilly

A London Weekend

A fascinating London weekend it was, in which most of what was intended was achieved, including the benefit that being over the age of sixty offers; a third off transport fares, if you remember to show up with the bona fides for your age.

On the Piccadilly line of the London Underground, the glimpse I caught of buttons on the back of a jacket suggested an untucked, ruffian look from the front; with a tie rather than a bow tie or cravat, it was a tailcoat of undecided pretensions to putting on the Ritz.

The Ritz and Recognition

Indeed, I did alight at Green Park and exited onto Piccadilly on the side of The Ritz London, one of the swankiest hotels in the city, opened by César Ritz in May 1906.

I could never walk down Piccadilly without being acknowledged, and I was quite dressed down, standing out simply because I wore a straw hat, carried a walking cane, and had a jacket finished with an elaborate pocket square collage.

The doormen at the Ritz doffed their top hats and even muttered a greeting, which I returned.

Heading to Fortnum's

I was on my way to Fortnum & Mason, a walk that takes you past The Wolseley Piccadilly, the Caviar House, Burlington Arcade across the street beside Burlington House, the home of the learned Royal Societies too.

Fortnum's is always busy, yet a very different busy from Harrods in Knightsbridge, which I only ever entered once at someone's behest; the less said of the garish, gaudy place, the better.

Inside Fortnum's

In existence since 1707, this shop is famous for its teas and other exquisite foods. It has been picketed many times for selling foie gras, the making of which does not greatly concern me, as the taste is as different from pâté as fish roe is from beluga caviar.

I have a predilection for Earl Grey tea, and they have many blends, of which Smoky Earl Grey wins every time. It is best to have the loose tea dispensed at a counter by weight rather than buying packaged tea bags or the ready tins, which can be more than 33% dearer.

Along with some Lapsang Souchong aromatic tea and Strawberry with Fortnum's Champagne Preserve, which takes the edge off the sweetness of the jam, that was my first visit in about seven years.

Leaving Piccadilly

As I left for the station, the doorman at the Wolseley offered a greeting; not the one who always took time to compliment my dressing, but they do see enough to know the difference between being dapper and just snooty.

He had a bowler hat on, and I had to ask where he got it, as mine, bought from a gentleman's outfitters in Ipswich some thirty years ago, was looking the worse for wear.

He recommended a milliner near Liverpool Street, but that might require another visit to London.

There is a quiet, unbothered sophistication about Piccadilly; the London tour buses gather at the entrance to Green Park just as a patron of The Wolseley urges his dog to take a pee. The carefree appearance demands a dress code enforced on the serving, whilst remaining non-existent for the served.

Putting on the Ritz

A short note on the places that punctuated this walk: The Ritz London, opened in 1906, was the realisation of César Ritz, the Swiss hotelier whose name became shorthand for refined luxury. Fortnum & Mason, founded in 1707 by William Fortnum, a footman in Queen Anne's household, and Hugh Mason, his landlord, has supplied the British establishment with provisions for over three centuries.

The Wolseley, by comparison, is a relative newcomer; a former car showroom turned grand European café, it opened in 2003 and has since become a Piccadilly fixture in its own right. Burlington Arcade, opened in 1819, remains the original covered shopping promenade, still patrolled by its top-hatted Beadles. The Royal Societies along Piccadilly include the Royal Academy of Arts at Burlington House, where the learned and the artistic have gathered since the eighteenth century.

It is no accident that the Ritz lent its name to a song. When Irving Berlin wrote Puttin' on the Ritz in 1929, he was reaching across the Atlantic for the very idea César Ritz had built into a brand. The original lyric pictured "Park Avenue", with its "high hats and Arrow collars, white spats and lots of dollars", as the place to dress to impress.

The 1946 revision moved the scene to "up on Lenox Avenue", but the spirit remained the same; to put on the Ritz was to wear your best and walk as though the pavement belonged to you. 

Piccadilly, in its quieter, more unbothered way, has always done the same. Park Avenue performs its wealth; Piccadilly assumes it. The doormen still doff their top hats, the bowler hats still need replacing, and the tailcoats of undecided pretensions still ride the Underground, hoping nobody notices the buttons on the back.

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Coronavirus streets in London & Manchester - XXXIII

Ladies, of the night

We can somewhat agree that England is opening up and the lockdown eases. In London over the last weekend, on one of my long walks, at Camden was a bevy of raucous females exhibiting everything but ladylike behaviour, outside the public house, unsteady on their high heeled shoes, clothes hardly protecting their modesty, screaming at the top of their lungs. It was scary.

Yet, it was a sign of the return to a sort of normalcy you would have thought our year-long sequestration might have ameliorated. How wrong I was. On Sunday, the Starbucks café was busy, with people sat at tables sipping their coffee and working on their laptops. That one of them ignored the sign on the table meant to allow for social distancing was unnerving, but I got my café grande latte and stepped out to have my drink.

Sitting about in restaurants

When my friend arrived to meet me just outside Vauxhall Railway Station, we walked up the Albert Embankment promenade by the River Thames as far as the London Eye Ferris wheel before we had to get a cab to the restaurant we planned to go to, where we both had to register using QR Codes and were shown to a table we chose distant from others for most of the time we were there. It was busy.

Back at home, to the right across the road, a coffee shop had closed permanently. So, I was pleased to see the Central American restaurant across the road to the left with its doors open and probably patrons sitting inside having a meal. All this still comes with caveats, the Indian variant strain is gaining prominence, the final easing of the lockdown in June is looking at best tentative.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XXXII

Doors flung open

Manchester is apparently open for business in a way, walking past restaurants that had closed since last year they had chairs and tables out for alfresco dining, but few of them were occupied as people chose to sit inside the restaurants instead.

By observation, probably those who need to smoke were sitting outside even though one could begin to feel the chill of the evening. The sun was out and out in the parks were children at play and adults in exercise groups with others jogging, there was a jolly feel to things.

Guests in town

The hotels also seemed to have come to life, like people could not wait to arrive in Manchester, the car parks were full, I would think hotels are up to brisk business, but they would need more custom to begin to recoup their losses due to the pandemic.

As for the larger supermarkets, I checked in on one at almost 9:00 PM as it now closes at 10:00 PM when during the stricter lockdown it had shorter opening hours. I do sense a bit of reticence still, the streets and shopping precincts are not that crowded, we are trying to be responsible by keeping safe still and that is a good thing.

Thought Picnic: The unlocking has begun

The way things are

All indicators suggest the untightening of the Coronavirus lockdown restrictions has set people free to begin a sort of return to normalcy, whatever that normalcy might turn out to be.

Personally, I have not been too excited about the development because there is nowhere for me to go yet and I am still trying to understand how I keep safe whilst being able to do the usual things whenever I step out of my building.

I did go out to do some shopping and in the short walk to the supermarket, I did not notice anything different from last week or even the last year, we still wore masks, maintained social distancing, avoided crowding around each other, and overused hand sanitiser at every opportunity provided.

Then for things to be

My plan is to visit London by the weekend and get to see friends I have not seen for almost 18 months, it has been a long time. Hugs, a peck on the cheek, a Belgian kiss of two kisses on the cheek, a Dutch kiss of three on the cheek alternately, or a French kiss – reserved for lovers, making the shaking of hands or still the elbow nudge, we just need to be sensible in whatever we do.

Whether I have been persuaded to visit a restaurant, I do not think I am close to that level of daring-do, how to travel on the trains is something that has been on my mind, then hotel stays; the one I used to visit was not available. Then, so of us have already been on the first flight out to Portugal, which is in the green list of countries.

For obvious reasons, I want to be in Cape Town and I am on the lookout for opportunities that would allow me to work remotely out of Cape Town, it is where my heart is, and hopefully where my new life can begin.

Thought Picnic: Of habits and habitué

The difference is in the same

I cannot help being a creature of habit, much I seek adventure, I have a tendency to get comfortable with people, places, events, things and ideas. I do make the effort to break away from the mundane and the routine, but some things might just remain the same.

Returning to the same places where I went on holiday because the memories are wonderful and the sense of being and feeling was more than palpable if the hotel has been exemplary, it is unlikely that I will consider an alternative, the familiar loses peculiarity and becomes natural. I could say the same for restaurants and much else, I become a habitué.

I do not easily make friends, but the ones I do make, endure for decades, it is just the nature of who I am, I am quiet, reserved, introverted and in some ways conservative, though you won’t see me and think that.

The Left of mind, a right of loss

Then, when I was in Edinburgh, having been away from home for a week, checked out in the morning and went to work before going to the station to board a train back home. It was when I got back home that I realised I might have left two things in my hotel room.

A can of Brut Original Deodorant and a bottle of Hugo Boss Number One Eau de Toilette, the former I have used for almost 30 years, considering it came on the market in the year of my birth and if my memory serves me right, it used to be in my dad’s grooming kit. The latter I have used for nigh on 23 years, I have not been persuaded of any other deodorant or fragrance.

Now, these are no more in the shops, I must order Brut by bulk from Amazon, Hugo Boss, however, is a strange one, the carton says it was made in the UK, but no UK shop stocks the item. Bizarrely, I am only able to get this when I pass through the Charles de Gaulle airport duty-free shop in Paris and it is not getting any cheaper.

Beating myself harder than with a rod

So, you could imagine my sense of loss when a barely used bottle of Hugo Boss was inadvertently left in a hotel room and I had no inkling as to how to retrieve it. Like gloves, I always have at least one spare bottle to hand, but imagine my utter discomfiture when on returning from a trip to London, I could neither find another pair of these fanciful smell repellents.

I searched all bags, high and low, I could not for the life of me think of how I might have lost them again. For weeks, I was resigned to the fact that I had been a second time careless and had relapsed into mental flagellation occasioning regret.

At one time I had decided I would not more travel with them if I could not trust myself to keep them and return with them.

Redemption of self and soul

Then, a few days ago as I was rifling through my new trolley case for my laptops and work materials, I happened upon the zipped-up cavity where I had stored a power bank and there also was the can of Brut and a bottle of Hugo Boss.

I had neither lost nor misplaced them, I just did not remember they were there. I promptly forgave myself, thought about my possibly fading mental acuity and decided, the world is not lost, these things happen. The habit that has been going on for almost a lifetime serves its purpose, though year on year, I have watched the price of Hugo Boss rise by at least 15%, at such prices, one cannot afford to be careless or even carefree.

To each one his own and thankfully Hugo Boss Number One stands out as a class ahead of the rest because celebrity piss water flooded the shelves of perfumeries that if you venture into such shop floors, your departure will be greeted with a vapour trail of pongy effluent that polite company would rather don a gas mask than suggest you reek of the unmentionable.

To retain certain habits, you have to careful, mindful and resourceful, it is the only way to retain a sense of wellbeing and sanity.

Thought Picnic: Of restaurants that upset the peace of the belly

Service matters

I am usually one to sing the praises of a restaurant if I both enjoyed my meal and the service both of which are very important to me regardless of cost.

Where the meal has been very good and the service leaving much to be desired, in fact, to be honest, the service for me is part of the meal, it is the spice, enhancing the aroma, giving the right ambience making it all worthwhile.

Paris is somewhat known for atrociously rude waiters, they have their moods but for me, many things are evident, I walked into the restaurant of my own volition and I am paying; it means I will not take aggro with my food and I can so easily drop my napkin on the table and walk out.

I once called a French waiter aside and told him, “If you are not happy with us being here, we’ll leave, we don’t take aggro with our food and honestly, I don’t care for his manner.”

I can be generous but do not create an atmosphere where the only tip you get is best for the tip, my leftovers after I could stomach no more.

Wait a bit before praise

Last weekend, we searched out a nice Brazilian restaurant in the West-End, good food, good music, an ethnic feel and amazing company, however, before I could get to my keyboard to write about it, having all decided we will all return at a later date, I was already feeling queasy and queer with the evidence of an unfortunate mishap, by the morning, everyone had a story – we know that only the bravest of the most foolhardy of us will return for second helpings of that experience.

Now, one can only imagine the glee of those who might just have secured a table at Copenhagen’s Noma which gastronomic buffs have awarded the superfluous, if not hoity-toity title of the World’s Best Restaurant for three years running.

That far North?

Denmark? It does beggar belief to me because I belong to the school of thought that the further away you are from the equator the less bright colours your local food has, something to do with nature, weather and local agriculture – but now the world is a much smaller place than when spices travelled by clipper from the East Indies, you can find global foods anywhere there is means to convey its freshness or preserved state to some other place.

In any case, having ate, drank and been merry, 67 out of 78 patrons that flaunted their bookings apparently either saw their meals again or had it run out of them with great discomfort, they had picked up the Norovirus in the world’s best restaurant, one can only think that the meal would have been as memorable as it would have been forgettable – what an experience.

What goes out came in

The Norovirus could well be unpalatably referred to as the shit-virus, at the great risk of being crude, it derives from faecal matter – perish the thought, you say – there? Yes, even best restaurants are, well...

To compound the matter, the visit of the authorities into the kitchen and the office showed a number of hygiene shortcomings and probably an apparent lack of responsiveness to complaining customers due to the hubris of status – the restaurant is too busy being the best that it conveniently delivered the worst after-dinner experience to the diners – any wise setup will quickly bake and eat humble pie and keep a very low profile on being the best at delivering strange food and not being concerned about it.

Beware that your great repute does not leave you less caring about the smallest things that can bring great grief to more than one.

Holiday Snaps: The best price is resistance

Making friends

Sometimes, I find myself somewhere between genuine interest and intriguing curiosity with the prospect of being exploited the calibration on that meter scale.

Now, earlier I was at the Marmaris Castle, a topic to be covered in much detail later and there was a group of kids on an excursion who when they saw me wanted to take pictures.

At least two were forward enough to try out their basic knowledge of English and before you knew it, we had shook hands, my hand the less regal without gloves have made friendship bond with some 15 children who seemed to genuinely interested and all wanted to know my name and where I was from.

I asked for their names, made real pleasantness and asked if they were having fun, which I had to explain and then a chorus of yesses filled the air.

What you don’t want

There was no exploitation in the air though I was taken aback by the question from another kid about my age which simply revealed one of the basic questions in language you learn without making allowances for the fact that it is rude to ask adult strangers that as a second question of a conversation.

However, walking through Marmaris presents those opportunities, restaurateurs that offer food you are not hungry to eat and then they offer free drinks to draw you in for half-priced food, the bait is slung but resistance is key.

Politely, shake hands but don’t let it linger to the point that you are dragged into the lair, the touching should be sniffed at whilst maintaining a convincing smile and engaging in the idle banter.

What you don’t need

Through the bazaar, he asked if I remembered him in Vietnam to which I responded I had forgotten and then he said he was some captain and I noticed the leg he lost in ‘Nam had grown back.

They offered leather jackets and many to view but I could see enough from the street there was no need to go in and I was not in need of a leather jacket that was not in-laid with Kevlar. At half-price of whatever price, there was no deal for me and a lot for them – resistance had to be futile.

Turkish bangles are not what you dangle for bling, they are not necessarily Turkish though the handiwork of talented Turks but you have to be disinterested and without being uninterested, see the interesting without betraying interest or your end up with a gift that commands a price that you have to pay before you depart.

What cannot fly

Carpets and tapestries, cushions and blankets of legendary Turkish expertise but none fit my exacting specifications, beautiful as they all seem, they are not flying-carpets and so, I have nothing to buy and they have nothing to sell even if it going at half-price and less.

They do not persist for long and where one did persuade me to visit his restaurant to eat fish did did “My Way” the best he could offer was a drink and a haggle over the fish – I calmly told him to keep the fish, the long fish tales and bring the bill for the drink, friendly people who are not after what is in my pocket are probably the most likely to get some of what is in my pocket.

The best price is always resistance.

Holiday Snaps: It was crazy alright

Walking into the night

Night life in Marmaris is varied from the cosiness of restaurants to the bar and clubs that form the sea-facing facade of the probably 6km long promenade.

After dinner at the hotel, I made out to walk almost 4km towards the Eastern end of the marina that I had covered by bicycle earlier.

It probably took the best part of an hour or more, I do not walk as briskly as I once did and I had to take breaks on the way to ease the pain in my lower back, it was a case of will over ability, but that was what I wanted to do.

The journey was by no means easy as waiters called out to entice me into their restaurants or dens, you constantly had to stand your ground that you did not want a meal, a sip of any drinks or the conscience-tainting offer of a free drink that almost obliged you to go the extra bit to paying for nice but unwelcome hospitality.

There were many restaurateurs that recognised me as I walked by the docks and they all wanted to have a conversation about everything.

The crazy of Crazy Daisy

When I got to the end of the promenade, I turned left and the first street to the left was club land, a cacophony of sounds from at least 15 different bars and clubs with one so brazen that it lit up the sky with war-time searchlights and a green laser display of the club’s name on the mountains just about 1km away, I was on Bar Street.

Crazy Daisy was worth a look in, as one of the doormen was he-she, I could not really tell but it was quite likely no self-respecting lady will be dressed in a body-hugging leopard-skin leotard with a matching wide-brim hat that had one of the sides folded up into a something like a huge Napoleon Bonaparte hat.

I will err on the side of the person being male and his heels were mountain-topping though the burly bouncers turned away some they did let in others and eventually I made for the door.

The assurance that I would hit no one with my cane gave me a welcome entry into this cavernous place where the drinks were not going for tuppence.

Squeals of heels

Later the man in drag took the stage, by which time I was half-deaf, the loud speakers booming so load as if NATO was doing a night raid on Tripoli – clubs are just not healthy.

Being a disk jockey has nothing to do with disks or jockeying anymore, the man at the music stand had an Apple MacBook and probably a few cables that went into some amplification system and in between some synthesizing equipment to embellish the sounds.

Back to the dancer, it hard enough seeing certain ladies comment on the extraordinary daring of dancing in high heels and I have seen Rihanna, Lady Gaga and Beyonce do feats the foolhardy equivalent of tight-roping walking without a pole or a safety net.

What I saw I could not appropriately put in words, I spontaneously applauded the man as I thought the slightest mishap will lead to a series of skeletal fractures that would make the putting back together of Humpty Dumpty seem like a kindergarten finger-painting class.

I longed for bed

I saw enough and then trundled back to my hotel the pain in my back as bad as it can be for I had resolved to be a glutton for my own self-inflicted punishment.

The only disturbance along the way was a dog that started barking at me before I got to it and after I had moved on, it was still barking oblivious of the fact that I had completely ignored it – such busy-body dogs can only be a representative of their masters.

The bed received me as the pain in my back eased and I fell asleep soon afterwards.

The importance of being particular

Hotel satisfaction at your expense

Whilst this sounds like a play on Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest, I am not about to provide a twist on the person or usage of Earnest.

However, there are essential bits of detail that need to be, just so, when one finds that living out of a suitcase and ending up in hotels comes with both work and play.

I got the keys to my room and was not particular about the bellboy getting my bags up before me, as I stepped into the room, the whiff or stench of those who had been before hit me like a hurricane, I gasped for breath as I reached for the phone.

Not another whiff, said I

“Is this a smoking room?” I enquired; in fact, it was and the receptionist offered to call me back in 5 minutes. Not on your life, I was not spending another minute in that room, so as I dropped the phone, I was on my way back. I had closed the door when the phone began to ring, I had the good sense not to return to answer it – I was about to be fobbed off if I allowed it.

So, at the reception, the concierge noted I was particular about having a room with a wireless connection, indeed, I do need that for lots of reasons, I never stay in a hotel without one.

That was the only one available with a wireless access, well, I am not having it, I am not staying in a smoking room even though I stopped smoking 23 years ago.

My mind does not need to work overtime on this, I expect to be put in a hotel of the same hotel chain (Accor) with similar or better services at no extra cost, transfers borne by the hotel, it has happened before.

Then, suddenly, a room materialised and I settled into my smokeless suite without much ado.

Hotel restaurants can surprise

Since, I was too lazy to go scouting for a decent restaurant, I decided to use the hotel restaurant, and these restaurants could be quite good especially in unfamiliar lands where one would like to sample the local cuisine. I was suitably impressed in Prague by one such offering; however, beware of the occasional burnt offering.

The elevator had a set menu and I taste-buds were already excited with what would go for the entrée; I had no mind for the main course.

In one kitchen a menu should be flexible

I was ushered to my table and the menu presented and I could not understand why that entrée from the set menu could not be found in the standard menu or offered as an option considering it was not declared special.

Anyway, I asked to have the desired entrée and a plat principal from the main menu, the waitress decided to argue that this was not possible. I had already ordered sparkling water and was about to decide on the wine,

Simple logic need be applied here, “Are these menus serviced from the same kitchen?” I get an affirmative. In that case, can I have what I have ordered, still a demeanour of recalcitrance prevailed – so, I asked for the bill as per the sparkling water.

At that point the waitress suggested I make other choices at the risk of getting me a bit angry, I intimated, I make the choices I want for food and if not available I would eat elsewhere.

At that point she offered to get the supervisor to chat to me about my choices that was unnecessary, I advised she either get an OK from the supervisor or bring the bill, I was not going to have two catering staff gang up against me because of my unusual choices.

I got what I wanted, hence, the importance of being particular.