Happy New Year

The hotel residents arrived in their new and ever so nearly new vehicles, emptying their boots of wheeled trunks, laptop bags and just in case cases. Managing to find the reception desk, they booked in with the bored and 'tired from the night before' receptionist whose mind wanders between, 'what to cook for tea and the dogs need a walk', while Shuffling couple by couple into their allotted rooms. Where 'she' finds a hanger for that special (expensive) dress and 'he' lays out his best (only) suit. Happily ensconced in their rooms she finds the bathroom and a mirror and he perches himself on the edge of the too soft bed to, 'work' on his laptop, or flicks on the TV to keep abreast of the breaking world news. He's already craving the ciggie he intends giving up tomorrow and she'll just be happy with plenty of gin in her ice and tonic. Outside, the grey harbour lays unseen and beautiful.

Rolling into the carpark, high above the 'heritage' village, pouring out of their vehicles, arrive the, 'day visitors' dressing for an Arctic expedition in hats, gloves, scarves and thermal lined, gortexed, breathable, waterproofed and wind cheating jackets and displaying a multi-coloured array of Christmas present wellies. An over excited, keen as mustard dad tries to hurry them up; while a never been rushed, never going to be rushed mum makes certain everyone, including dad, is tucked in and the rather be Playstationed or Xboxed, kids gather in a muddle, jostling, not looking forward to, the route march ahead.

Local types tired of having to walk around and about people, hide behind closed doors and growl at the rude, peering, leering, window pressing, door nosing visitors. "We used to have the village to ourselves in the winter." Attention deficit kids hang off railings, "Don't do that dear," and plastic bagged dog pooh gets deposited behind flower pots! The sanctuary of the bar stool is disturbed by back packed and ruck sacked leaners, asking too many questions while ordering too few drinks. Oh! for the dead of winter when the bar stools stand vacant and the bar staff have time to read the gossip monthlies.

Between pouring best brewed pints and serving plates of chefs finest, harassed bar staff wait patiently for minds to be made up, decisions to be kept, the smallest change to be counted out and, "Mine was the chips with! not the chips without!!" Waiting only for that much needed whisky at the end of shift.

Hotel residents dressed in their finery and stuffed with yet more turkey, drink the health of the 'local ale' as the night draws on, witnessing the locals badly trying to dance at the New Year disco. The evening banter develops into a brooding brawl, spilling out onto the Quay wall, giving more meaning to, 'fireworks at midnight.' Which by the way, were very well received, when midnight did arrive and the New Year, 2010, began.

The hung-over rumble of wheeled cases over cobble stones, disturbed the morning and the hatch-back clunk prised opened the eyes of the new day as the remnants of the night before were deposited safely into the waiting cars. The time to depart throbbed and the smile on the face of the receptionist hid the pain of that last large white wine. Another year, another hangover, another good night in Clovelly.
Happy New Year everyone, welcome to 2010