Good Hotel Guide
Hostels and Hotels in Perth
If you have a hotel in any of these locations then please contact us to list your hotel below, free of charge.
Aberfeldy, Acharacle, Arisaig, Auchterarder, Aviemore, Ballachulish, Blairgowrie, Boat Of Garten, Carrbridge, Corrour, Crieff, Dalwhinnie, Dunkeld, Fort Augustus, Fort William, Glenfinnan, Grantown-On-Spey, Invergarry, Isle Of Canna, Isle Of Eigg, Isle Of Rum, Kingussie, Kinlochleven, Lochailort, Mallaig, Nethy Bridge, Newtonmore, Perth, Pitlochry, Roy Bridge, Spean Bridge
For UK travelers going abroad, we recommend Tenerife, with feel of the UK yet all the sun of Tenerife. Read an extract below from More Ketchup than Salsa, the story of a English couple who left the UK to set up life in Tenerife. Info on how to buy the book can be found below.
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Below you will find short extracts from More ketchup than Salsa by Joe Cawley – not to be missed.
Short Extract
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The bed was decked in black silk. A pair of handcuffs rested on one of the pillows, still fastened to the headboard. On a chair in the far corner lay a short, leather whip and next to it a video camera was mounted on a tripod. Wayne broke the stunned silence. ‘I hate to say it, Siobhan, but I think your place is now a brothel.’ Just what this shithole needs,’ said Frank, rubbing his hands together. The suspicion was confirmed as we packed everything into bin liners. Next to the television was a stack of videos, the titles of which left no doubt as to their genre. Barry noticed there was one, unlabelled, half way out of the video recorder. He pushed it back in and turned on the TV.
Aberfeldy, Acharacle, Arisaig, Auchterarder, Aviemore, Ballachulish, Blairgowrie, Boat Of Garten, Carrbridge, Corrour, Crieff, Dalwhinnie, Dunkeld, Fort Augustus, Fort William, Glenfinnan, Grantown-On-Spey, Invergarry, Isle Of Canna, Isle Of Eigg, Isle Of Rum, Kingussie, Kinlochleven, Lochailort, Mallaig, Nethy Bridge, Newtonmore, Perth, Pitlochry, Roy Bridge, Spean Bridge
I have to admit that I made very little effort to avert my eyes from the tanned flesh parading up and down. Back in Bolton I was used to strolling amongst anoraks, parkas, trench coats and hats, even in summer. Those considering a move from a muffled-up country like England should be forewarned about the dangers of living amidst a never-ending parade of near-naked, golden bodies. It’s not a bad thing, may I hasten to add, but those of a weaker disposition should realise that distractions come thick and fast. I was pondering these and other facts, about to doze off when I sensed a shadow slide across me. You’ve not got a bad life, have you?’ I recognised the Tyneside accent. It was a middle-aged teacher who was here on holiday with his wife. They’d been in the bar every night since their arrival last week. It has its moments,’ replied Joy. I contemplated acknowledging the couple but thought better of it and feigned sleep. Joy immediately kicked into hostess mood. ‘Look at the colour of you two! You’re getting a nice tan.’
Originally dubbed ‘the poor man’s market’ in what was a working man’s town built on the prosperity of the local cotton mills, Bolton market was subsidised by the council to provide cheap food and clothing for low-income workers. (In a flourish of affluent delusion it has since been completely refurbished and modernised. The rats get to scamper around on fitted nylon carpets amid designer lighting franchises. An elegant coffee shop offering vanilla slices on dainty china now occupies the spot where once the best meat and potato pie sandwiches in Lancashire were messily consumed by fishy-fingered stall workers like me.) It was an undemanding job both physically and mentally, which suited me fine. Stress was for the rich and hardworking, characteristics that were never going to be heading my way. That’s not to say that I was content. A string of menial jobs had taught me that contentment is not always found on the path of least resistance, but I had found myself meandering towards that monotonous British lifestyle of schooljobpensioncoffin, and something needed to be done fast. I had grown bored with the same old stallholder banter ‘We’re losing a lot of money, but we’re making a lot of friends,’ or ‘Oh yes, love, it is fresh, it will freeze.’ I was becoming less and less amused by the teasing of old ladies as they stood at the stall with purses wide open, names inadvertently displayed on their bus passes.