Since we arrived in Scotland, the five day forecast has predicted rain on every single day except for one. In that, it’s woefully reminiscent of our ill-fated Italian jaunt back in May. Unlike that troubled itinerary, however, the forecast for this region of the world has been off on more than one occasion. We’re grateful for small mercies.
Today again, we escaped the rain, although, like yesterday, it came down in buckets in the evening. Fortuitously, then as this evening, we were ensconced in the hotel, lazily eating dinner in the hotel bar. Well, it’s not only easy with the children, but the hotel had given us 12 free drink coupons and we were doing our best to work our way through our surprisingly generous allotment, which even includes spirits and beers. Why go elsewhere to eat when the drink flows freely (in both senses) here?
The Millennium has been a bit of a mixed bag. Its location would suggest top quality, but once inside, the tell-tale signs of faded grandeur slowly start to reveal themselves. I’m not talking about the décor, although that, too, is tired and ready to be tackled. No, my gripe is more about room key cards that constantly fail and need reprogramming, staff that don’t know on which terms Internet access is available in the rooms, placebo air-conditioning (in rooms that wouldn’t even need it, if properly ventilated), empty trays at breakfast that aren’t noticed and replenished in a timely fashion, an exclusive lounge that has about as much to offer the peckish guest as the hotel’s boiler room (i.e. sweet fuck all: it’s the finger food and refreshments that have been excluded, not the lower tariff-paying guests), housekeeping staff too lackadaisical to restock your toilet rolls, and more minor pecadillos of a similar ilk.
The place probably had higher standards in its heyday, but someone has let the place slip and slide into casual, complacent mediocrity. The price, however, is bang on the nail. It’s surprisingly affordable here, especially given the location, which is smack on George Square. It doesn’t get any more central than that. And then there’s those 12 free drink vouchers, which could save you about half the cost of a night in the hotel, if you apply them sensibly.
So much for Glasgow. Tomorrow, we move on, westwards. We leave the mainland behind and take the ferry to the Isle of Arran, where we’ll sojourn for four nights.
Things start to take a decidedly rural turn at this point. With Edinburgh and Glasgow out of the way, the urban element of the holiday is already complete at the end of the first week. We’ll be in small towns and villages from this point forward.
This is where it starts to get tricky if the weather is seven shades of shite, which, of course, it is forecast to be. We’ve always had good luck in the northern latitudes, so we’re hoping for continued clemency. If the weather in the days ahead proves as steadfastly unpredictable as it has during the last few days, we’ll have the situation under control. Otherwise, we may struggle to busy ourselves and keep the small people amused.
That’s Scotland for you. If you want predictably fine weather, you go to Italy instead. Oh wait; we tried that, too, didn’t we?