Good Hotel Guide
Hostels and Hotels in Reading
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Basingstoke, Bracknell, Crowthorne, Henley-On-Thames, Hook, Hungerford, Newbury, Reading, Tadley, Thatcham, Whitchurch-on-Thames, Wokingham
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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Wayne was on holiday with his girlfriend, Becky, a pretty but painfully thin slip of a girl who wouldn’t have suffered adversely from a couple of weeks of force-feeding. Wayne was an ex-gas fitter who we coerced into fixing our oven when the four rings suddenly developed delusions of grandeur, throwing circles of flames high into the air like four Rolls Royce jet engines. We had attempted to persuade a gas engineer to pay us a visit after Frank had removed the safety catch from the propane bottles but our hopes were not high in securing a return visit in time to stop the kitchen ceiling being cooked. Wayne and Becky were sat at the bar early one evening, when David came out from the kitchen with distinguishably less eyebrow hair than he had gone in with. I think we’ve got a problem with the gas,’ he said, and steadied himself with a shot of brandy. What’s up with it?’ asked Joy.
Basingstoke, Bracknell, Crowthorne, Henley-On-Thames, Hook, Hungerford, Newbury, Reading, Tadley, Thatcham, Whitchurch-on-Thames, Wokingham
Eventually a man of the green cloth was pushed into the room and I proudly revealed my affliction. Blood was still seeping through the checked tea towel that was tightly bound around my hand. The medical man peered at my hand and gazed inquisitively around the room. It was at this point that I had the uncomfortable feeling that this was all a bit unfamiliar to him. He picked up a brown glass bottle, scanned the label and liberally scattered the contents over my wound. We both waited a moment, he a little more curious than me, to see what reaction I would have to this liquid. I was relieved when no more than a vague tingling occurred, but I sensed disappointment and surprise from him. Next, he dabbed at my hand with an unnecessarily large wad of cotton wool and told me to hold it there while he went off in search of needle and thread. We have all heard those news reports of phoney doctors performing intricate surgical procedures on unsuspecting patients, and I was beginning to think that this man was no more of a doctor than I. To flee or not to flee battled in my mind, but before I could run for it, he returned looking very excited. Being English and therefore not wishing to appear rude, I tried to think of a polite way of asking him if he was actually associated, in any way, shape or form whatsoever, to the medical profession. Have you been busy today?’ I lightly enquired.
We didn’t pretend to be a high-class restaurant. We were catering for package holidaymakers, timeshare fly-buys and loyal residents, the clientele who happened to be on hand. There was no demand for haute cuisine, despite David’s urge to extend his creative culinary skills further than fried or grilled, microwaved or mashed. On the odd occasion when he had satisfied his own artistic urges, pumpkin soup was sneered at in favour of prawn cocktail; beef pie and chips was preferred over beef bourguignon, and crème brulée was laughed off the menu when competing with apple pie and custard. Our weekly fish and chip special was also popular. David had developed his own batter, trying out various secret ingredients before choosing half a pint of Dorada as the winning addition. The crispy cod was another sure-fire winner, especially with the older set who ‘knew what they were getting with a nice piece of fish’. For some stalwarts even our ‘Hawaiian Burgers’, simply chicken breast crowned with a pineapple ring, would prove too exotic for simple palates: ‘Hawaiian burger? Oooh nooooo. Foreign food doesn’t agree with me. Have you not got anything like curry or bolognaise?’ Although the menu could hardly be called inventive, aside from the odd, extravagant excursion offered by David, it consisted of meals that we knew would sell, principally steak, chicken, pork chops, mixed grills, burgers, salads and omelettes. The swallows clearly expected more as they surveyed the handheld blackboards that we employed as menus. ‘Would you wipe this table before we start. It’s filthy,’ said the cravat. ‘It’s like a greasy Joe’s.’ Joy resisted the temptation to tell them that it was ‘Joe’s’.