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Day 5 - Mrs Rogers
Okehampton to Walton - 81 miles
I felt like I had been in a car accident. We had stupidly requested an alarm call at 6.45am
withtheintentionofhavinganearlystart.Mybodyfeltlikeitbelongedtosomeone50years
older.
Again, I had foolishly tried to wash my boxer shorts late at night and have them dry by
the morning. Again I had failed.
Glyn, the manager, was at the reception when we went downstairs.
'Good morning. Dave will sort you out with some breakfast in the dining room, and then
I'll do an inspection to see if you did your jobs properly. Then I'll decide whether you can
have your bikes back.'
She didn't look like she was joking.
Dave was in his sixties and clearly wanted to be anywhere else, other than serving break-
fast in a hotel in Okehampton.
'Morning, Dave. Sleep well?' asked Ben
'Too well. That's why I was late this morning. So what will it be? Two full Englishes?'
'Sounds perfect. Thanks.'
During breakfast, the ketchup bottle exploded when I opened it. It covered my t-shirt,
face,suittrousers,thetable,thesurroundingtables,theoldcoupleonthenexttable,theceil-
ing and the window. Ben, who had somehow escaped unmarked, howled with laughter.
'Everything alright?' asked Dave when he came to offer us more tea.
'Errrr… I kinda covered the room in ketchup,' I said. Dave took one look at me and then
began laughing and pointing.
'Ha ha, look it's all over your face and clothes.'
'Yes. I know.'
'How strange. I wonder how that happened?' he said, with the smirk of someone who
knew exactly how it happened. He handed me a napkin, picked up the ketchup bottle and
walked off.
It didn't take a genius to work out that he and the other kitchen staff probably had
something to do with it. A couple of teaspoons of baking soda would have probably done
the trick. I could hardly blame them; they had cooked and served breakfast to a couple of
dirty, non-paying guests. I probably would have done the same thing.
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