Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to be cool, and today was one of those days.
We’d done our research on Brisbane and decided to stay in the bohemian/grungy/painfully trendy Fortune Valley neighbourhood. No boring city centre hotel for us, no, we are way too sophisticated for that, and go where the in-crowd go.
And to be fair, the vibe in Fortune Valley is pretty good – lots of live music, a quirky little Art house cinema and an interesting mix of people in the bars and cafes.
But our accommodation – which we’d paid for in advance – was shocking. Filthy rooms, really bloody noisy and ‘Managed’ by a fat Brummy retard who thought Wend was unreasonable to complain about the blood on the bathroom walls.
“Probably someone with a chipped tooth love, what’s the big deal? Why don’t you just use our other bathroom?”
So we checked out and took a cab to a boring city centre hotel.
Which is exactly what we should have done in the first place.
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