Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'Yes, it's a long story, but basically Ian from the hotel up the road said that we can pitch
a tent in his car park if we can get one.'
She paused.
'Well, I have got a tent, but how do I know that I'll get it back?'
'I can promise you that we'll take great care of it and return it to you first thing in the
morning,' said Ben. She considered this for a moment.
'Okthen.Idon'tseewhynot.Waitthere,I'llgoandseeifIcanfindit.'Shewentinside
and returned a few minutes later with a tent, and her husband, whose job it was to stand in
the doorway and look intimidating, in case we had any doubts about returning the tent.
'I need it back tomorrow by 8.30am. That's when I go out to work,' she said.
'You've got a deal. Thank you very much indeed.'
'Hi Ian. We've managed to get a tent. Is the offer of your car park still open?' I asked in
the Cross Keys, five minutes later.
'Blimey, that was quick. Where did you get that?'
'From a lady just down the road. She was the first person we asked.'
'I'm very impressed. You guys are good. Yes, of course you can pitch your tent in the
carpark.Ifyoudon'tmind,Iwouldpreferitifyoucouldwaituntilitgetsdark.Itmightbe
a bit weird if you're putting a tent up while everyone is still arriving at the pub. I'll bring
you a couple of pizzas when I get a minute.'
'Aren't you going to be a bit cold in the tent?' asked Ben.
'Why? Are you claiming the sleeping bag AGAIN? I haven't used it once yet.'
'You can use it if you want, but it smells of me now.'
'I don't care. I nearly froze to death at Mrs Rogers' house.'
'Fine. You can have it then. But I'm warning you, it may have a few sticky patches in
it,' he laughed.
'Oh, you're a sick fucker. Keep the bloody sleeping bag. I'm going to go and ask at that
other pub across the road if they've got a blanket or something I can borrow.'
The pub across the road could not have been more different. It looked exactly the same
asitwouldhavedoneinthe1950s;lotsofbrass,veryfewlights,and-judgingbythethree
old men at the bar - probably the same occupants.
'I've got a duvet you can borrow,' said Chris, the man behind the bar. He was in his
mid-thirties with spiked hair, pierced ears and a fluorescent shirt, straight from a 1980s
disco.
'That would be perfect. Thank you. I'll drop it back in the morning if that's ok,' I said.
'You're welcome,' he said, pushing me in the shoulder in a flirtatious way. 'If you need
anyone to keep you warm in the night, you know where to come.' The men at the bar
laughed.
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