Good Hotel Guide
Hostels and Hotels in Isle of Man
All B&Bs, Hostel and Hotels welcome to list their property here – any of these locations then please contact us to list your hotel below, free of charge.
Ballasalla, Castletown, Douglas, Kirk Michael, Laxey, Peel, Port Erin, Port St Mary, Ramsey
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.
List your Hostel in Isle of Man
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 woman began to brush our lawn, eyeing the patio doors for signs of life. Satisfied that there was none, she climbed over the wall and continued to sweep the grass. What’s she doing?’ sniggered Joy. Brushing our lawn, I think.’ The woman bobbed her head from side to side trying to catch sight of what lay inside. She manoeuvred a little closer to the glass doors, still sweeping back and forth. Her husband remained on the other side of the wall, encouraging her to go closer.
Ballasalla, Castletown, Douglas, Kirk Michael, Laxey, Peel, Port Erin, Port St Mary, Ramsey
Anything prefixed with the word ‘scorpion’ or ‘twatting’ for that matter did not sound like it should be encouraged to share my personal space. ‘What do I do with it?’ I held the rod at arm’s length, which sent it swinging in an even larger circle amongst us. Joy was awoken by the commotion and sat up just as the spiky brown creature headed straight between her eyes. She flicked her head to one side, narrowly avoiding a more intimate introduction and the fish spun wildly past, opening and closing its mouth in a dizzy protest. After the fish had completed a couple of circular tours causing all three of us to duck consecutively, Frank seized his moment and grabbed the rod, lowering the creature back into its more familiar surroundings with a small splash. He reached and cut the line, releasing it, and us, from the unpleasant encounter. I was thankful that the next half hour was spent fruitlessly but by now the combined stink of oily fish, petrol and sun tan cream was aggravating the roller-coaster ride that my stomach had to endure. Frank could see the telltale green tinge and reeled in the lines. ‘We’ll find somewhere sheltered,’ he said pointing the bathtub shorewards. El Beril came into sight as we neared the coastline. The terracotta roofing looked like a red oasis in a desert of grey and black rock. To see the resort detached and in its entirety allowed a degree of circumspection. Living in a coastal community where the sun always shines has to be considered fortunate in anybody’s eyes. From our current vantage point the days of market toil seemed no more real than looking at somebody else’s photograph album.
Joy went straight to bed while I sat on the patio, beer in hand gazing at the most vivid sky I had ever seen. With no light pollution, the velvet black was awash with blinking stars. It seemed infinitely clearer, as though we had been looking at it through dirty glasses in England. This clarity extended further, though. We had now chosen a path and were actually on it rather than dreaming about it. This was a success in itself. Yes, we had made mistakes, some more than others, and yes, there was still a mountain to climb before we knew what we were doing, but we had made a start. Result 32 people fed, zero poisoned. My mind was whirring with thoughts of what had gone on that night and what we had to do tomorrow. I started to make a mental list. I awoke to the sensation of beer racing down my leg, the bottle tilted on my lap. I left the warm night air and flopped on top of the sheets next to Joy. It seemed that within minutes the alarm was frantically trying to stir us both to life. For a moment my brain clicked into autopilot, preparing to go through the rituals of a normal market day: reluctantly pushing off the thick quilt followed by a rapid dash to the cold bathroom; standing at the sink with my hands in hot water to warm up; flattening down my errant hair; piling on layer upon layer of warm clothes before unwillingly leaving the relative shelter of the house and dashing out into the pouring rain; watching in disgust as the first bus of the day pulled away from the bus stop.