Good Hotel Guide
Hostels and Hotels in Worcester
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Broadway, Droitwich, Evesham, Malvern, Pershore, Tenbury Wells, Worcester
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 marina of Puerto Colon has often been called Tenerife’s secret, though how multi-million pounds worth of flashy steel and sail, the majority skippered by a bunch of raucous nouveau riche, can remain a secret is anybody’s guess. Tenerife’s yacht-erati shared their berth with an array of excursion boats, varying in size and comfort from the latest catamaran to converted fishing boats with more on-board animals than Noah’s floating menagerie. There were bright yellow glass-bottom boats, fiery red speedboats, replica schooners and a dozen or so serious ocean-going yachts. The rattling and chinking of masts brought forth similar feelings that I had about airports. This was a port of fantasy. From here, lifetime adventures would begin, culminating in a step ashore on any exotic coastline that took the fancy. Frank was about to enlighten Joy and me about the mysteries of the fishing world, which we had previously thought of as a sad, sullen population of loners who would much rather sit in the rain staring at ripples than join the real world.
Broadway, Droitwich, Evesham, Malvern, Pershore, Tenbury Wells, Worcester
As the soundtrack changed from a fanfare of blaring trumpets to the ambient swirls of synthesiser music, the pièce de résistance began. A black rectangular box was wheeled from behind the backdrop. After much posturing, Monique climbed inside and waved au revoir. Only her head and feet remained visible. Gaston pushed the box from one side of the stage to the other to show that both Monique’s feet and head were moving. As he did, I thought I heard another loud crack. Wayne was beyond caring at this stage, having smoked himself into oblivion. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his eyes half-closed and a grin plastered across his face. Gaston began to saw the box in half, pausing occasionally to check if Monique was all right. As the blade was nearly halfway through the box, I noticed the right-hand side of the stage had begun to part company with the left. Unfortunately, Monique was positioned over each half of the separating sections. Gaston began pumping frantically with the saw to keep up with the rapidly widening gap. The saw broke free at the bottom of the box and Monique, who was oblivious of the external problems, cried out theatrically as if in pain. Gaston stepped back raising his saw in mock horror and stamping a foot behind him for effect. This was as much as the right-hand side of the stage could take and the outer supports collapsed. The two pieces were now only held together by a handful of assorted screws that Wayne had used to unite them. The discrepancy in levels was enough to start Monique’s feet on a slow roll to the right. Gaston stretched out his left leg, jamming a foot under the castors to foil the escape while trying to maintain a smile. The sudden shift in weight caused the screws to release their grip and the left side of the stage kicked free. Monique’s feet trundled right, her upper half began to roll left. Trapped inside her wooden coffin, she could do no more than strain her eyes to see where she was heading. Gaston threw down the saw and made a brave effort to jam his other leg under the other half of his assistant but having adopted the ‘splits’ position, he discovered he was in no shape to sustain it. He toppled backwards with a fit of Gallic expletives, watching Monique’s boxed head gain speed as she edged closer towards the left-hand lip of the stage. Fortunately although Monique may not have viewed it that way rather than rolling straight off and toppling over, the first set of castors dropped over the edge, tilting the box just enough to thud Monique’s head firmly against a store cupboard door, wedging her at an unlikely angle but saving her from any further injury.
She’s been sleeping there for the past week,’ said David, drawing deeply on a cigarette. His face had lost any trace of colour and his eyes bore witness to his own troubled nights. Arguments had become commonplace, subjects ranging from Faith’s role in the Smugglers to whether they should buy filter or non-filter cigarettes. Having agreed to move to Tenerife, albeit reluctantly at first, Faith was now saying she was bullied into coming and once here was being bullied by the rest of us. We had had this discussion with David before and several times had agreed to tread lightly when voicing our opinions, or rather disagreeing with Faith’s. The truth of the matter was that my sister-in-law no longer wanted to be here but David was financially tied to the business. The decision had to be made whether she was prepared to leave David as well. David and Faith grew increasingly exhausted over the next 48 hours. Their eyes bore the red marks of too little sleep, too many tears. Faith had decided to leave despite David’s pleas for her not to go. She argued that she didn’t want to move to Tenerife in the first place, nor get married in circumstances that she felt had been forced on her. Now she found herself in a business partnership where she not only disliked the nature of the business, but also where she wasn’t treated as an equal partner. She was leaving Tenerife and David for good. The marriage was over. On the morning of her departure we didn’t open the bar until 6p.m. allowing David time to help Faith pack and take her to the airport. Joy and I didn’t see her before she went. Instead she wrote us a letter explaining her reasons for leaving and apologising if the decision left us in the lurch. It did, but the inconvenience was secondary to the rage I felt at her abandoning my brother.