Walton D
September 9, 2024
STEPHEN KING’S FAWLTY TOWER Please do not read this review before you go to sleep. It will give you nightmares. Because the details about staying at the Harbour Hotel in Chichester are the stuff that real life terror is made. A seemingly nice veneer that houses a memorably incompetent staff (except for Angelina), ‘totally unacceptable customer service’, ‘broken promises’, ‘creepy experiences’, gravy-ed with former occupants’ trash and discarded tissues under the pullout. And bees. Now, before I get started with the grisly details, let me say that I know this might sound like a lot of ‘first world problems’. Because when you pay in excess of a 1000 quid a night, you expect the best. Also, understand, we are not rich. But, my son is a loving and over-doting workhouse who slaved away hard to make my dream of going to the Goodwood Revival in first class style for three days, come true. As a Birthday present to me. It was a decades-old dream of mine that he was making my reality. He worked. Saved. Scrimped. And made it happen. It was all a First Class experience except for the Harbour Hotel. The first nite. We are met at the desk by John, an effusive character. My son and I reassured him that ‘we are very low maintenance’. John escorted us to The Cottage off the alley in the back and the initial presentation was pretty terrific. The illusion began to unravel. There is no downstairs water except for the one bottle the hotel allotted. There was plenty of free gin. In a carafe with glasses. A free bottle on the dining room table. Free gin. Free gin. But, if you drink water more than gin, you have to go through the inconvenience of going to the upstairs bathroom and get filled up at the bathroom sink. Oooo, classy! I think the water to gin ratio is by design. Harbour Hotel doesn’t want you to notice ‘things’. They want you to be ‘blind drunk’, not hydrated. John showed us around. The downstairs bedroom. The bathroom. Where he proudly pointed out the television in the wall of the shower. He tried to turn it on. It didn’t react. He said he’d go get batteries. Like a flash, he was back and said the tv was working. ‘Anything else?’, ‘No. Thanks”. John splits. Quickly. Before we notice the next wrong thing. (I wish John had spent seconds on how to operate the shower and bath. Such a confusing task. Horribly designed. Daunting. Be careful with the shower. You get easily scalded. I defy anyone to get it right on multiple tries. Ridiculous). We ordered room service. Piffle. I asked my son, ‘What kind of meat was that in the salad?’ My son quickly answered, ‘I have no idea’. My son and I prep to go to sleep to get an early start at Goodwood Revival - Day 1. I just want a hot bath. John had said the tv was working. He was half-right. The audio was working, not the video. The sound coming out was an annoyingly ghost-like and hissing whisper between an invisible man and woman. Nails on a blackboard. I call John. On the spot, he returns and hit’s