The most important rule in our family is not about love, respect, mobile phones, the need for daily showers or who gets to watch what on TV. Our most important rule is to do with staying in hotels and it is this: DON’T TOUCH THE HOTEL SNACKS.
Knock yourself out with the hotel freebies - you can shampoo your hair five times, cover yourself from head to toe with the free body lotion, sew all the buttons from the tiny sewing kit onto your earlobes and shave with the complimentary razor. You can even dance around Sydney’s CBD wearing the free shower cap for all I care.
JUST DON’T TOUCH THE HOTEL SNACKS!
You see, not only are the snacks that you can buy in your hotel room ridiculously expensive, but they are right there.
All the time.
Staring at you.
Egging you on to eat them.
And once the thin end of the wedge of Toblerone is between your lips, you’re a goner. The feeding frenzy will begin and next thing you know, you’ll be lying on the king-sized bed, wrapped in the fluffy white gown (use of which is free - so there’s nothing wrong there), flicking through Fox Sports (also free, but so terribly dull) with chocolate dribbling down your chin, chip crumbs in your hair, a piece of Scottish shortbread ground into your pillow and a jelly tot stuck up your nose. It’s unattractive, unhygienic, unhealthy and horrifically unaffordable.
It’s no laughing matter, so I have created a cautionary poem in the hope that you will be able to memorise it and call it to mind when next staying in a hotel, feeling the pangs of hunger conflicting with the contents of your wallet. No need to thank me. It is my act of community service….
Those hotel snacks.
Those hotel snacks.
I do not like those hotel snacks.
They cost you to the moon and back.
The chips, the nuts,
The jelly beans,
The coconut ice,
The Jersey creams,
The little men of gingerbread,
The boiled sweets - white and red.
Although in bags as small as mice,
They come at an enormous price,
Money that could do much more
Than make me gain a pound or four.
Those hotel snacks.
Those hotel snacks.
I will not touch those hotel snacks!
I pace across the room and back.
I shield my eyes so I can’t see
That bag of cashews wink at me.
I take a bath. I wash my hair.
I spray free perfume everywhere.
I read the mags. I flush the loo.
I flick the telly, shine my shoes.
I make myself a pot of tea.
I drink a cup, then two, then three.
I use up everything that’s free.
Everything that’s free for me.
Then suddenly I find myself
Standing by the tempting shelf.
The one upon which lie the treats -
The chips, the nuts, the coloured sweets,
Little red-waxed balls of cheese,
Chocolate frogs and spicy peas.
I will not touch them. No! No! No!
I really do despise them so!
I will not eat them in the bath.
I shall not munch them by the hearth.
I will not eat them in the bed,
Or even standing on my head.
I cannot chew them by the door,
Not in the loo, not on the floor.
Those hotel snacks are bad, you see.
Bad for you and bad for me!
They’re wicked, evil, nasty poo.
But what’s a hungry girl to do?
A bag of crisps can’t do much harm.
Should it really cause alarm?
After all, chips come from veg,
Giving them a healthy edge.
I sidle up until I stand
So close to them, they brush my hand.
The package bends and gives a rustle.
Next thing I know, I’m in a tussle.
I’ve torn the packet all to shreds
And chips go flying on the bed.
I sweep them up and scoff them down.
The dregs and crumbs fall on my gown.
I lick the salt flakes off my lips,
Then think, ‘That wasn’t many chips!’
I spin around and squint my eyes,
Looking for the next surprise.
‘Aha!’ I cry, ‘A gourmet box
Of salted caramel-centred chocs!’
What harm is there in such a treat?
I’ve worked so hard and now I’m beat.
One needs rewarding for one’s labour
And caramel is just the flavour!
The lid is off, the sweets are out,
The cellophane lies tossed about,
I gobble all the caramel chocs
And wipe my hands upon my frock.
My eyes peruse the nut selection.
Candied almonds! Pure perfection.
And when they’re gone I hit the bickies,
Gourmet yo-yos, white and sticky.
I wash them down with fizzy drink ,
Then follow with some cheese that stinks.
But look! What’s that behind the phone?
Pink marshmallow in a cone.
I’m feeling rather full by now,
But pink marshmallow - Wow! Wow! Wow!
I lick the cone until it’s soggy,
Then eat a final chocolate froggy.
I moan a little, hold my head,
Then flop upon the king-sized bed.
What’s that beneath my arm I feel?
A voucher for an in-house meal.
Complimentary, three whole courses.
Hang on a minute. Hold your horses!
Have I just wasted ninety bucks
Filling my tum with pricey muck?
I flop my head back on the doona.
Oh how I wish I’d found it sooner.
I moan, I groan, I shed a tear.
I feel some brewing gas, I fear.
I wipe the voucher across my brow
And take a solemn snacker’s vow:
‘Those hotel snacks.
Those hotel snacks.
I do not like those hotel snacks.
They cost you to the moon and back.
I really do despise them so!
I will not touch them. No! No! No!
…
Unless, of course, they’re really yummy,
And I have an empty tummy.’
Qt Hotel last week - best snacks ever. The sight of this was killing me ... but I stuck to my guns and refused to indulge. (It probably helped that I had just eaten a slice of lemon tart the size of my head at the Vienna Cafe in the Queen Victoria Building!)
And the Transcontinental Hotle in Melbourne the week before.
And the Stamford Plaza in Brisbane on Monday. Such fortitude I've shown!