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'Hold on, I'll check for you.'
'The manager says the best he can do is £30 for the two of you,' she said. 'The normal
price would be about £60 so this is a very good deal.'
'Thankyou,'Isaid'Thatdoessoundlikeaverygooddeal.Unfortunately,wedon'thave
any money at all. We're not allowed to spend a single penny.'
'Hold on. I will try him one more time.'
A few minutes later, she returned.
'He said he could offer you both a room for £11. This is the staff rate, I think, with an
extra discount added.'
Ben and I looked at each other with the same feeling of helplessness. We were being
offered a room in a bright, clean, comfy, fresh hotel with hot showers, big beds, and no
workmen drilling metres from our heads, for just £11.
We said farewell to the Swedish beauty, and she waved us off and wished us good luck.
It was 9.30pm and we were still standing in Carlisle town centre. It began to rain.
'Elevensoddingpounds.Weweresoclose.Wecouldbehavingabathinourhotelroom
by now,' said Ben. 'I feel like I could cry. I love the Ibis.'
'I would rather be standing out here in the rain, than having a bath with you,' I said.
'I didn't mean together, you bellend. What's the plan now?'
'How about we go to a pub and just ask people if we can go and stay at theirs?'
'It doesn't look like we have many other options.'
WalkaboutisachainofAustralianthemedbars.NotjustanyoldAustralianthemedbars,
they are OFFICIALLY the coolest Australian themed bars this side of the planet. Well,
that's according to their website anyway. I'm not sure that I've ever been to an Australian
bar in Britain that was not a Walkabout, so the competition isn't huge.
There were picnic tables outside the front of the pub, and a few groups of people were
sat under parasols in the rain watching Manchester United play a Champions League game
on a screen through the doorway. We surveyed the groups of people and decided on our
plan of attack. We headed towards a group of lads who looked like students.
We asked if any of them would be willing to put us up for the night, but nobody was
forthcoming. We tried the same approach at another table of guys who were too absorbed
in the football to even acknowledge that we were speaking to them.
'Yous can sleep at mah hoose,' said a Scottish voice from the other end of the table. We
turned to see a man in his early seventies, with tightly cropped grey hair, a badly rolled
cigarette hanging from his mouth and a woollen jumper that looked like it had been knit-
ted by someone with severe colour-blindness. His eyes were wild and piercing. They were
magnified by a pair of badly sellotaped glasses that made him look genuinely terrifying. I
doubt he had ever lost a staring competition in his life.
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