Good Hotel Guide
Hostels and Hotels in Bradford
Do you have a hostel or hotel in one of these towns then please contact us to list your hotel below, free of charge.
Bingley, Bradford, Cleckheaton, Keighley, Settle, Shipley, Skipton, Bradford
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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Mario had installed a dishwasher, which we promptly uninstalled. It was proving just as efficient to wash by hand as the machine would take the best part of an hour to trudge through its cycle. Not only that, close inspection revealed that it was the home of probably the cleanest community of cockroaches anywhere in the Western world. The damp, warm interior provided their perfect pied-à-terre, a veritable holiday camp of spindly beasties waiting to jump out from gleaming crockery. Proportionally, the little things in life shouldn’t scare the big things. But it happens. It was a common sight to see a bar load of adults fleeing from one side of the room to the other just to avoid being anywhere near a two-inch insect. Of course, the bug realises the terror it can cause. Think of the power trip it must be on, scattering people like a motorbike in a ballroom. It’s believed that the cockroach is the only creature that could withstand a nuclear holocaust and thereby take over the world. If those aspirations were being considered, we were doing our utmost to rain on their parade. One of our more common purchases was Raid. At the cash and carry it was the pharmaceutical equivalent of buying condoms. You hid a couple of cans between the beans and frozen chips before making your way sheepishly to the checkout.
Bingley, Bradford, Cleckheaton, Keighley, Settle, Shipley, Skipton, Bradford
The most annoying nights were when only one or two tables remained at a relatively decent hour i.e. before 1a.m. Thoughts of an early night would prevail, especially if all remaining tables ordered the bill before midnight. It was hard to resist breathing a sigh of relief and start visualising fleecy bedsheets. But, as Murphy would have it, the plot would always change. Just as the last people were bidding their goodnights, after the floor had been mopped and all the tables cleaned, a taxi-full of young revellers who had been turned out of a club in Las Américas would shatter the calm and crash into the bar like a herd of rabid cattle. Having slowed to almost a standstill, trying to shift from first to fifth gear in one go required a major effort, both mentally and physically. We’d smile, we’d serve, and we’d even laugh at their drunken banter. Tonight’s idiots could be tomorrow’s breakfast crowd and, having been rebuffed by the nightlife downtown, there was also the possibility that they would choose to dump their entire binge budget in our till if we pushed the right buttons. This involved much more than jolly smiles and chirpy banter, however. Picking diced carrot out of the bathroom plugholes was a real delight, especially after we’d already cleaned the bathrooms ready for the morning. Oh, how we would chuckle at that little jape, coming as it did at the end of a 13-hour shift! We also had to persuade latecomers that high decibel renditions of ‘I’m too sexy for my shirt’ were not a particularly good idea at 1a.m., especially as they’d normally be followed by a visit from the local constabulary with threats of arrest and deportation for them, and a stern warning from the community president for us. But to be truthful most of our efforts would be focused on getting them out, our persuasion based on the theory that if they didn’t let us close, we wouldn’t be able to open again for breakfast. If you’ve ever tried to have a serious discussion with a group of radically inebriated youngsters whereby the main aim is to convince them to give up their drinks, you’ll understand that it’s something of a an uphill battle.
During our down time, the two Johns milked their ‘odd beer’ for all it was worth. They spent an inordinate amount of time sat at the bar buying drinks for new holidaymakers, female ones in particular. It mattered not if their husbands were with them. The two Johns assumed that as residents they were naturally more appealing. There existed a certain amount of disdain for the ‘Billys’, as holidaymakers were affectionately known by the residents. We as newcomers had yet to adopt that arrogance but it was all too plain to see in the more seasoned expats. Just as the two Johns tried to impress on the new customers that they were frequenting their bar, so it was on the island in general. Whether in Las Americas or in the secluded villages like La Caleta, the expats treated the island as if it was their own, making it perfectly obvious that holidaymakers were naive and ignorant in the ways of their land, and were fair game to be parodied. Dos El Dorados por favor,’ those brave enough to make the effort with the local language would ask at our bar.