Hotel horrors (things that go bump in the night)

Remember Fawlty Towers, the classic 1970s TV show set in Torquay, Devon? And the trio of Basil, Sybil and hapless Manuel the waiter. He was accorded no further identity other than the airy description of “he’s from Barcelona”, designed to explain every shortcoming.

And he wasn’t even Spanish . . . the actor in the role was Berlin-born Andrew Sachs.

Well, suffice to say we might all have laughed like loons at the comical goings-on, but no sane person would have wanted to stay at such a worn-down dump on the ambitiously named “English Riviera”.

As Fawlty would declare to guests who complained about the boring views (including of brick walls) from their poky rooms: “What did you expect? The hanging Gardens of Babylon? Herds of thundering wildebeest?”

I’d love to airily segue to the wondrous and “real” world of renowned hotels and that magical sense of drama and storytelling surrounding the best. Sadly, though, even the five-star establishments can sometimes get it wrong.

It’s usually not a dip in service or comfort, because you can’t stand tall and proud in that prestigious firmament if you stuff it all up and let standards drop. Rather, it’s the way designers and decorators have come up with a raft of gadgetry and high-tech hoopla to keep ahead of the game.

Yes, this is a shout-out to all such so-called experts, and their annoying connivances, including key cards that don’t work, wall-mounted TVs requiring a degree in nuclear science to operate, and power switches placed just about anywhere except the logical positions.

Of course, expect no reading lights by the bed, because “everyone has a mobile phone or iPad” as one junior hotel clerk once informed me.

As for those daft mini-bars containing “locked” items which, if accidentally moved, you’ll be charged for, plus that packet of peanuts you thought were “complimentary”, then good luck getting your final bill adjusted.

So, after removing the 120 ”display” cushions on your bed and wrangling the doona, which is about as unnerving as erecting a tent, you’re all tucked up, eager to sleep.

But now here’s a walk to the doorway to turn off all the lights at a master switch and a stumble-mumble disorienting passage back to bed, during which knees will be knocked and curses contrived in impolite language. Tip: always have your mobile phone torch app ready to go.

What’s that jangling noise? Oh, it must be those daft coathangers that can’t be removed from the wardrobe rail because they’re mechanically welded to prevent theft by guests who’ve just paid, oh, at least $400 for a room.

Then there are the telephones with multiple buttons to press for “service” and each bears a tiny, faint image. If, like me, you need reading glasses, try not to press the fire alarm bell icon button instead of the one for room service, which will be a cloche with spirals of steam.

QR codes to order room service? No, thanks. Too much palaver, and also pavlova, if you accidentally over-order. Ten desserts on a trolley? It’s been known to happen. Then there’s the huge Nespresso machine taking up most of the bench space but there are only two pods (one will be decaffeinated), displayed like a pair of precious earrings.

Fancy a cuppa? Good luck with sufficient English Breakfast and Earl Grey. They’re very popular, don’t you know, so we’ll provide fewer, and stock you up with the ones no one wants. Hello, Twinings “sweet and juicy” green tea infused with pomegranate, strawberry and raspberry. Um, no thanks.

As for those tiny cartons of UHT milk, surely I’m not the only guest who’s been squirted in the eye while removing the metal tab.

Then off to the bathroom to moisten a face washer (good luck with the sci-fi “mixer” tap) and wonder if consorting with the shower is possible for anyone who lacks an engineering degree.

The whole bathing thing almost deserves another column, starting with tubs that have no railings to hoist oneself in and out, and hard-to-reach shampoo/conditioner bottles fixed on brackets.

Faulty powers that be, if you ask me.

.