Some years ago, an American psychosexual therapist by the name of Dr Ruth started appearing on British chat shows.
She was a tiny, older lady, and, from my recollection, wore dodgy nylon dresses. On seeing her, members of the public would volunteer details of the most personal kind. Now I don’t know which of these traits I share with her, but when my client came to see me, I think he must have confused us.
The gentleman, fit and in his 70s, had taken his wife to visit the cultural hotspots. The holiday had gone well until they reached Seville.
In every other hotel they had stayed in, they had been allocated a double room. However, in Seville, they had twin beds. While for many, separate beds at the end of a fortnight’s hard, if romantic, sightseeing might spell peace and a welcome rest, for this sprightly couple, the thought was anathema.
“We weren’t foxed,” said the chap. “We pushed the beds together!”
“Ah, so everything was fine in the end,” I said, trying to finish the conversation. And if I’d known what was coming next, I’d have tried harder.
“Oh no, things were decidedly not fine,” he replied.
“The beds were on casters and, at a crucial and intimate moment, they drifted apart and I fell through the chasm between them. The bedside table crashed to the floor and my magic moment was ruined.”
Geriatric intimacy is not something I choose to think about, partly because I’m squeamish, and partly because it makes me laugh. In the first instance, I looked up at my client and winced.
“That’s got to have hurt,” I said.
“Hurt? I’ve still got the bruises to prove it.”
“Did you want to make a claim on the insurance?” I asked.
“No, no,” he said, smiling. “We thought you might pass on a suggestion that the hotel removes the casters. A fella’s happy for the earth to move, but he prefers the bed stable, if you don’t mind.”
Frankly, I think he came in just to show off.
Leaping and screaming
Graham Hawkins from Elite Island Resorts called in en route to Exeter. We were impressed as he drove up in a Porsche Boxster S with its roof down and parked opposite the shop.
Graham certainly strode in like a man who owned a Porsche, but it turned out that it wasn’t his vehicle, and he was just the delivery boy.
The car was on its way to Vanessa Crawford, of Thomson in Exeter, as she is the winner of the Porsche for a month, which Elite Island Resorts and Travel Weekly award to the highest-scoring agent each month in the Mystery Shopper competition. (Our Mystery Shopper awarded Vanessa 98% – read her visit to Exeter for a full write-up.)
“The journey to Exeter in the Porsche is the business,” said Graham.
“But returning on the 3.34pm South West Trains service will not be as cool.”
Graham has been in the travel industry for a long time, and many agents will remember him in previous roles. His has had a varied career: starting as a Butlins Red Coat, he swiftly moved on to a stint as a Club 18-30 rep for ILG, which he describes as “the same job with sunshine”.
From there he became entertainments cruise director at Thomson, and all the while he was pursuing his own aspirations in the entertainment world, performing as a stand-up on the comedy circuit.
When I asked if he’d worked with any comedians I might have heard of, the list went on and on, and included the likes of Bob Monkhouse and Lee Evans.
“Don’t tell me,” I said. “They stole your material and made it big!”
I have to say, he certainly livened up a dull Monday, giving us free pens and travel clocks, and regaling us with his jokes and party tricks.
I was particularly flummoxed by the one where he took a gold chain from his neck, wrapped it around my finger and then released it in one swift movement. Generally, once I’ve got a man wrapped around my little finger, the idea is to keep him there.
Graham has his own motto when it comes to relationships: “Never leave a woman until she leaps and screams,” he says.
Apparently Vanessa didn’t leap, but she screamed as he handed her the keys to the Boxster. I hope the good weather continues and she can pose with the top down.
Maureen Hill works at Travel Angels in Gillingham, Dorset