2001-02-14 - 19:16:36

�Where�s the key, cos I�ve forgotten�where I put them when I came home��

Now travel writing might seem like the cakiest job on the planet, but honestly, 400 words on an indistinctive bar, empty on a wet Monday night in Manchester � well, it would test anyone�s flowery prose, let alone this poor scribe�s. I mean, just how much can you say about their range of continental beers? �The barman understood our order first time!� �You can conveniently pay by cash OR credit card!� �Diverse range of man-based sexual services scrawled on the toilet walls!�

The hotel was very tres, dah-lings. Apparently Eminem was mean to be staying there the week before, but it was too near the gay village � I�m not sure if it was him or them that was doing the protesting, but he ended up elsewhere anyway. I didn�t get the international rap star penthouse suite of course, but it was still pretty swisheroo, and they actively encourage you to steal the toiletries. I�m not too sure if the newspaper will pick up my drinking until three in the morning on cocktails bar tab, though. Just being able to charge these things to your room is a very dangerous business.

�And I count your fingers, you still have ten�your sweater�s fuzzy against my chin��

Mystifyingly, I got home this afternoon, and was able to open the front door unimpeded by tottering mounds of envelopes. How strange that the post office managed to lose all my cards. Perhaps they needed an extra day to process such a demanding volume of mail. I�m sure that�s it.

�I feel your hand, it�s on my kneecap�I see your face, it�s against the glass�and I will drive slowly��

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