honeymoon from Hell

As my third wedding anniversary is rapidly approaching I thought I’d share with you the hideous tale of my honeymoon.  My husband says “If we'd have had a normal honeymoon we’d have forgotten about it by now” I beg to differ. 

Like many couples, we had a budget for our wedding and when I say budget I mean budget.  We had exactly £5,000.  Some may say that’s plenty and some may say that’s the cost of the dress! Nevertheless, we managed to (just about) stay within this sum and had a fantastic day.  But one thing we neglected to factor into this five grand was our honeymoon.  When we first set the date for the wedding we were thinking BIG for the holiday, it was a one-off and we wanted to go out with a bang.  Initially we were thinking the Maldives but as the general cost of the wedding was totting up, the finances for the honeymoon were getting less.  So from the Maldives we went down to Mauritius then to New York but in reality there was only enough money left in the pot for a weekend in the Lakes.

“Don’t worry baby, leave it to me.  Honestly I’ll sort it all out and it will be the best honeymoon ever and I promise when we’ve paid off the wedding we’ll have a proper honeymoon”

Oh how I wish I’d have got that in writing…and signed in blood!

‘PING’ I opened the email, it was a booking confirmation form.  He’s done it I thought, he’s actually booked our honeymoon!  I picked up the phone and squealed “You’ve booked something, what have you booked?”  I listened attentively as my husband to-be described an idyllic village just ten minutes from the coast. Perfect or so I thought.

The bags were packed and after a quick Superman style change in the work loo we were off and three hours later had finally made it to Aspatria.  It was 7.30pm on a gloomy October night and I struggled to understand why this so-called idyllic village consisted of a hardware store, three pubs (one which was boarded up), a telephone box and bugger all else.  It must of taken us all of 10 seconds to reach the ‘You are now leaving Aspatria’ sign?  No, it couldn’t be right?  As we pulled over to reassess, Jase spotted the top of the hotel sign behind a huge brick wall.  As he turned the car around, I physically couldn’t stop my head from falling in my hands as I despaired at the sight before me.  It was an exact replica of the Norman Bates house.  Set way back from the road, swamped in gnarled trees and in complete darkness it looked almost derelict.  As my husband stuttered an attempt to reassure me I gave him a look that silenced him instantly and as he exited the car I snapped “Don’t bother taking the cases out”.

As we gingerly walked through the door we were greeted with a beautiful tiled floor, mahogany service desk and a grand chandelier.  OK I can cope with this – creepy on the outside, elegant on the inside or so I thought.  As we rang the bell a very tall and apparently Dutch man donned in white pants, a white t-shirt and no shoes comes into view.  I immediately looked at Jase and mouthed “We are going to die if we stay here” he squeezed my hand and gave me a little head shake.  As they exchanged pleasantries and Jase ordered a Cumberland Ring for breakfast I took the opportunity to take a closer look at the décor and I didn’t like what I saw.  On the walls were several five foot frames each containing a child’s dress and gloves, framed crocheted bible quotes, old sepia photos of families outside churches and lots of other weird and disturbing paraphernalia. Devout Mormons it would seem. The only thing I could think was “Holy F**k”.   The next thing I knew I was being led up the stairs to be introduced to our room.  Trance-like I was nodding and smiling when required as I was told it was a shared bathroom and when our room door opened my face froze.  The tiny room housed two single beds which were lined up against the wall headboard to headboard, a toilet, a wardrobe and a Mormon bible!  The conversation that followed as I locked myself in the room was not a pleasant one and thankfully Jase had the sense to sit there and take what I had to say otherwise he’d have been in A & E having The Book of Mormon surgically removed from his ass.

“Do not unpack that case Jason” I said.

“Come on we’re here now, why don’t we go and have a drink and chat about what we should do” he replied.

“Fine but I’m sleeping in the car” I hissed.

 As we crept out onto the street we spied a pub just off the main street.  Obviously when we arrived there was no one in but us.  As the Landlady picked up the flow of our conversation she screamed with laughter at the thought that we were sat in a one horse town in a shitty back street pub for our honeymoon. 

“Where on earth are you staying then” she said

“At the guest house across the road” I replied

“You’re joking” she said with a deathly look on her face. I knew that whatever she was going to say next wasn’t going to be good and I was right.

“You’re staying at that guest house! You do know that that used to be a hospital for the mentally ill and the Dutch man who runs it now has one side for guests and the other for rehabilitating drug users”

“Double vodka please” I whispered and blenched.  Once again she cackled with laughter, shook her head and shouted “Honeymoon!”.

I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever drank so much liquor in such as short time but there was no way I was going back in that house sober and that night as we huddled together in a single bed I really believed that we would not be waking up.

But what do you know, we did.  We were alive and despite being elated about this fact I was still pretty pissed off about the whole situation and really wanted to go home.  After a few heated discussions we agreed to have breakfast and take a drive to the next town to see what was there and as we entered the dining room we seemed to be met with what appeared to be the rehab patients!  We were directed to our seat by the owner, complete with flip flops, and whilst we ordered our drinks, two tea-light warm plates and two tea-lights in glasses on beds of rice were lit! WTF.  As the Mormon turns and leaves Jase pipes up “F**k me, what we having a Madras?!” and roars out laughing, much to the disapproval of the Dutch man as he places a tea pot on the heated tray.

After a very rushed scrambled egg and coffee we are both back in bed trying to fathom out what to do for the best and I started to get a whiff of something that wasn’t quite right.  What the hell was that smell?  As we lay in bed I feared to move as the smell of pure turd was so strong I really thought that Jase had shit himself.  And as he slowly filled his lungs with the foul air I could see he was thinking the same about me.  Two minutes later we were sat in the car and as he started the engine I could hold back the tears no more.  I wasn’t quite sure how long this marriage was going to last.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m really, really sorry.  Look, we’ll go for a drive and see what in the next town.  We can check into another hotel.  Please don’t cry”

“Just let’s go home, I’ve had enough.  Leave it in your expert hands you said...”

And as we drove to Maryport it only got worse.  The town was completely shut down for the winter and it seemed that even the sea had pissed off because as we peered over the coastal wall there was nothing but uncouth smelling brown sludge.

With one swoop Jase scoop me up and bundled me in the car “Right that’s it, we’ll go back to the ‘Hell House’ collect the bags and go and find somewhere else to stay”.  I tried to protest but he would have none of it and with that we were off. 

As the Guest House came into view along with it came the stench of raw sewage.  It took no more than sixty seconds for Jase to go up and down the stairs and be back in the car with the case.  As we drove away, me laughing and crying, Jase said that there had been a random pair of flip flops at the top of the stairs and a women in a pink fluffy dressing gown polishing the pictures on the wall.  He hadn’t bothered to officially check out or ask for any money back, we were out and alive and that’s all that mattered.  We drove sixty miles to Keswick but like Mary and Joseph (without Baby Jesus) there was ‘No room at the Inn’ and just as we were about to give up and go home, two lovely jam-making Lesbians took pity on us and let us stay in their Guest House for two of the three nights we wanted.  And despite the wind, rain and the extra expense we managed to have a pleasant remainder of the trip.

So which would you have?  White fluffy sand and clear blue seas or a burst septic tank and one hell of a scary but memorable experience…

Love & kisses

Twiglette Piglette