Room Without A View

One of the pleasures of touring is the excitement of exploring new towns, browsing the bookshelves of new charity shops (you'll never be short of a copy of 'Angela's Ashes' while on tour in the UK) or finding a late bar to 'unwind' post-show. Sadly this is tempered by the russian roulette of digs, b&b's and small hotels... and I'm pretty sure there's more than one bullet in the revolver.

Now don't get me wrong I have stayed in some terrific digs that have made many an unmemorable stop a memorable stay (if you are ever in Wolverhampton you must look up Graisley Old Hall). But all too often it's a minefield of belligerent landladies, pre-war condiments, bed bugs, thread-bare sheets and ornamental crystal animals. Start telling a digs related story in any green room in the country and it will soon turn into a support group style meeting, each confession more bizarre and horrific than the last.

Here is one of mine...Arriving late and tired to one particular room in Edinburgh i was immediately struck by something odd with the room that i couldn't put quite my finger on. The room while extremely small (pushing even the limits of the abused adjective bijou) seemed clean and just about housed a bed- it would do. Not until the morning did i realise what the something odd was. There was no window. Further exploration revealed that my room was actually a cupboard. A large cupboard yes, but a cupboard nonetheless. And unless someone has given you a drawer to sleep in I think that should win some sort of award.

Even returning to the site of a previous good experience is no guarantee. It seems a year is a long time in the guesthouse world, in twelve months one perfectly lovely digs had turned into a crack den. Literally A. CRACK. DEN. The story needs no further information really, other than to say we were all surprised to go from pleasant Shakespearian comedy in a lovely Georgian theatre to gritty Irvine Welsh drama in just over an hour.

However it's not all horror stories: One tour of saggy beds and woolen toilet roll disguisers (the rolls royce model contains a spanish doll, arms aloft in flamenco pose) was broken up with a four night stay in Norway where we were treated like theatrical royalty (even after we had performed): fine banquets in our honour; charming, wonderful hosts; night- swimming in fjords (cold); day-swimming in glacier lakes (colder); guided waterfall walks with champagne at the end; and pancake-loaded boat trips. In fact if it wasn't for the photos I might have thought I dreamt it.
So keep hope weary tourer, the next stop maybe the best yet.
But I don't fancy your chances.