Hotel Love

Hotel love I arrived at the uploaded village in the north, which had once been a working hamlet, until famous people bought property there. More people followed, as did estate agents the parish became an in-place with posh cafes and restaurants with French names where the original inhabitants could not afford to live in what was left was a postcard idyll and a fake Tudor. As I was booking in when my ex-girlfriend burst in full of eager talk she was going to a restaurant where a well know singer would appear and do as singers do sing. In the right light and clever make-up, she looked about 37 it happened; I knew she was 54 but was not going to tell. A young man she called darling carried her leather suitcase. I was here to visit my daughter, her two noisy children and her husband, who spoke of investment and paying taxes. I ate wiener schnitzel, drank a bottle of wine, and served by a woman dressed in a sexed-up folkloric costume went to bed; my ex-girlfriend had a room next to mine made a clamour when she arrived with her young man, but after a while, things simmered down. In the morning, when she came down for breakfast, she as alone, not for her to let a lover see her in the morn I called her name and asked her to sit with me and drank coffee, her hands trembled, needed a drink but I got her to eat a croissant. Up in my room, drink in hands, she had a moment of clarity, my life is a mess, she said it is your fault for getting old and bald; slept in my bed for hours getting up, going to her room to put on her young face. I didn’t get to see my daughter and her children had to drive my exes home before she got into more trouble.