Hotel Stories

Ernestine & Alexander

Peter was raised in a Hotel in the North East of England and boarding schools in the West and South of Scotland. At 22, Peter lost his Mother (a Swiss trained hotelier) to breast cancer. His Father, never fully recovering, kept her memory alive by continually retelling Peter these Hotel Stories from the swinging 60s. Here are the first 7, dedicated to Ernestine and Alexander's love for one another.

THREE LOVABLE SCOUNDRELS. Did I just hear you ask, about the weather forecast for the North East? In two words, Brass monkeys — with Christmas and New Year. . .

THE OCCASIONAL LEG. There are two reception rooms. The Brown and the Green. Both connected to the ballroom. Yes that ballroom, with the patch of many scratches, previously created by. . .

A LITTLE DAB'LL DO YA! The ballroom (yes that ballroom, that yours truly French chalks) is the joy of many dancers feet every Wednesday and Saturday evening. Wednesday’s would be lounge. . .

OUCH! Guests are the lifeblood and heartbeat of any hotel. Each having their own idiosyncrasies. These idiosyncrasies revealed themselves regularly in our main reception. The domain of our beloved head receptionist. . .

THREE LITTLE MAIDS. Mary O’Brian was beyond question a good, kind and humble woman of Irish descent, a devout Catholic to boot. A woman in her early fifties — I was fortunate to. . .

THE POOR DARLING. Every room in the hotel was furnished with a Gideon's Bible located in the bedside drawer. A tradition going back to the early 1900s for the Imperial and Gideon's — both. . .

MR. GREY. We are in the hotel ballroom, it’s beautifully light, spacious and colourful. Light because of the glass ceiling. Colourful because at the far end is an early nineteen hundreds stain glass window — from floor to 20’ ceiling. . .