Why does Sheffield smell of wee?
And why do B&Bs in Richmond have showers that were once cupboards. Small cupboards?
Are just 2 of many questions that I’ve been asking of late.
If anyone has the answers to these, please do tell – it’d spare my brain musing on it at 4am, along with why I *had* to race two grown men in a people carrier last night (don’t worry, I did win) but when they were a tad pissed off at losing to a girl, I thought they were going to follow me, so I went about 3 miles out of my way up the motorway to “lose” them. Why oh why, did I feel the need to do it when I’m clearly a big girl’s blouse. Were my thoughts this morning.
Have promised myself only to race when absolutely necessary i.e. when the other car is not likely to beat mine, when someone tries to sneakily overtake at traffic lights, when I’ve got PMT, or all of the above.
Aaaaanyway I do have an incling of why Sheffield smells of wee. Or at least the Ibis Hotel Sheffield (and other isolated pockets of the city) The clue was when I went down for breakfast and saw all the single, depressed-looking, cheap salesmen-type “business travelers”. These people clearly like to wee in the shower I thought to myself. And I think they did. On a regular basis. There’s no other reason why the bathroom should reek of urine quite so much otherwise. The hotel has clearly given up stamping it out – or perhaps lost the fight against the somewhat primeval urge of territory marking. Perhaps if there was more to do in Sheffield of an evening other than get in a fight, there would be less need for leisure activities such as these.
Thus, my conclusion is: don’t ever go to Sheffield. Or if you find yourself sent on a business trip there, do take a large bottle of bleach with you and perhaps a travel scrabble for the long, dark evenings.
I’m afraid this post doesn’t contain any sordid tales of sex or violence. Firstly because you really wouldn’t want to accidentally catch sight of a local Sheffieldian cracking one off on the balcony below you, let alone letting their grubby mits anywhere near your mimsy. (I do love the word mimsy – it’s not used enough in everyday English)
I’m sure I’d have lots to say about the violence in Sheffield, had I been brave enough to be outside past 8pm. I wasn’t. The general feeling there is that a fight is brewing, regardless of the time of day. The necessity to smoke outside of pubs now has created groups of pissed up Northerners swearing at you on the street as you try to sneak past quietly (no difference to Gloucester, really)
As far as actual violence is concerned, I’d have to say it was only me – gnashing my teeth loudly and getting hysterical at not being able to find my way out of the damn place when it was time to leave. I could have easily punched someone then – a town planner, preferably.
-moosh (staring at the pattern on the bottom of the shoes of the nice man from The School of Social Entrepreneurs for the past 3 hours. Concentration today, lacking somewhat)
