Well i’ve been faced with a few strange loos in my time, but the American Standard in the Hampton Inn is a real eye-opener. It’s less than 2″ from buttocks to the water’s surface which more or less guarantees “Neptune’s Kiss”.

As a retort to Norm Walsh’s nice story about English Coffee, here is my own reciprocal experience:

I arrived in the Hampton Inn (Fnnnr Fnnnr) late at night and just a little worse for wear. Actually i was feeling more than a little bit jumpy. The air was as dry as a bone, the carpets were nylon and the sadists who built the hotel had selected metal door handles and light switches. Everything I touched resulted in an ark of static. I was staying in a van-de-graph generator.

I really could murder a cup of char. So i fired up the coffee machine (bad sign, no boiling water) and fumbled for a tea bag… bleugh .. rosy lea it wasn’t. Words fail me!

The coffee was OK, thank you.

Actually i later found some packets also labelled ‘orange tea’ which was more like it. I shouldn’t make fun. Blame it on the jet lag.

I was blissfully unaware of Boston’s up and coming night of glory until these turned up with coffee at the F2F meeting: ‘Patriot Superbowl Cup Cakes’. I’m tempted, but Jetlag means i’m not sleeping and with all that food colouring on board i’m very likely to glow in the dark.