Hold Tight: More From Mansfield
Such has been the excitedness of the thought of Mansfieldia hoving into view, that at little or indeed no cost we are moderately “pumped” at the thought of Part II of our Motoring Correspondent posting more of:
Treacle’s Belt Goes On Holiday
Chapter Two (The Getting To Mansfield Bit)
And so it came to be one cold dark April morning, Treacle strapped herself into her blue wing-ed chariot and embarked on the long flight to Mansfieldia. This meant setting off at 4.30 in the morning and arriving at 7.00. You must believe me children, for it is true. If I were ever to tell a lie you would be entitled to strap a rabbit to my back and send me to work for Iain Duncan Smithliepod.
Now Miss Tracey of Mansfieldia had recommended Treacle stay in a coaching inn known as Travel Lodge Mansfield. But this was an out and out lie, not on the part of the divine Miss Tracey I hasten to add, but on the part of the coaching inn itself. For this palace lay not in Mansfield dear reader, but in the outer suburb of Sutton in Ashfield. However, this did not worry Treacle one little bit, for she had a secret weapon. She was wearing about her person the magical black stretchy belt.*
And so it came to pass that Treacle arrived at SUTTON IN ASHFIELD FFS, to give the establishment its correct name (Travel Lodge Mansfield, I ask you). Having received instructions from Peter Kay of Bolton at hotel reception, Treacle then made her way to room 115. It had been a long and arduous flight, involving juggernauts, deer and flying reptiles, and dear sweet Treacle was ready for her bed.
In the next chapter I will tell you of the terrible conditions in which Treacle found herself. For now I will hint at the mention of NO toaster. There was NO toaster in the hotel room.
*Black stretchy belt had navigational qualities which enabled Treacle to find her way about without the use of a GPS (or Satnav as it is known in common parlance). Treacle would never be THAT common, but that is another story dear reader.