AN HOUR, AN HOUR, MY BREAKFAST FOR AN HOUR!!!

Hubby and I went to a wedding reception on Saturday night. It was an old chum of mine from my days as a Nursery Nurse and, despite the fact it was in Wimbledon which is no more than five or so miles away, Hubby and I decided to book ourselves into a hotel so that we would not have to worry about getting home; neither of us drive and it would have meant having to catch a tram and then another tram and then a ten minute walk so we thought, what the heck, why not? We got there around four in the afternoon. It was a converted family house at the end of a quiet residential street and we had Room A, which is a family room on the ground floor. We were made very welcome and given our key and we were glad to get in and unpack our suits for the evening.

The first thing Hubby did was grab the TV remote to see if he could get to the football results and the first thing I did was bounce up an down on the springy bed like an infant on holiday. Then we made use of the hospitality tray and had a coffee then I had a good look round. It may have been a small family hotel, but the proprietors had gone to great lengths to make it feel like The Ritz (and of course I went for tea at The Ritz not so long ago so I speak from experience). Pure white towels - a pile of three in varying sizes - adorned both corners at the end of the bed and the room was tastefully decorated in pale green and magnolia, with heavy drapes that matched the heavy quilt and the two cushiony parlor chairs, which stood, one each side, of a perfectly polished little oval table. There was also a single bed against one wall with a dorma bed beneath that and I think it would have quite comfortably accommodated a family of four without any problems at all.

After showers and getting changed, we headed off into Wimbledon Village fo something to eat and had a nice meal at Pizza Express, then we headed off to the reception via a Black Cab from Wimbledon Station. As soon as I mentioned our destination to the driver my confidence faded a tad. "Wimbledon Park Golf Club, please," I said, adding when I saw his tremor of panic "Home Park Road?" "Ah, Home Park Road, yes of course," he said with some kind of accent - Polish possibly - and Hubby and I clambered in. We arrived in Home Park Road and the taxi driver slowed down as he searched for anything that resembled a golf club. He finally stopped outside a pair of wrought iron gates and we got out. It was raining quite heavily by now and when we tried the gates we couldn't open them. "Maybe there's another gate further along?" I suggested. A minute or so later we found some more gates to a car park but we couldn't get through them either. As we wandered back towards the first set of gates, a car pulled up beside us and an anxious -faced woman popped her head out. "Are you looking for the reception?" I asked. She nodded. "We think it's over there but we can't get in," we told her.

Back at the frst gates, we pressed the security buzzer and nothing happened. Luckily for us some kichen workers came out with several bags of rubbish so we asked them. "How do we get to the wedding reception?" One of them nodded and input a security code. Hey presto - the gates opened like magic and we went towards the club house; accompanied by the anxious faced woman and her companions. We went straight into a bar which was next to a big empty room where a live band were setting up and we ordered drinks. We still didn't know if we were in the right place for the right reception but two Budweisers later I ran into Kirsty - the blushing bride - who was sitting in the cloak room feeding her little daughter a bottle of formula. We were really pleased to see each other and her mum was there, too, who I also know quite well, so there were hugs and kisses all round. "I found Kirsty," I told Hubby when I got back to the bar. "So we are in the right place!"

It was a very nice evening all told. We didn't know anyone else so we just kind of hovered but we did get to speak to Neil, the handsome groom (who looked very dashing in his tails, I must admit) and I took a couple of photos of their first dance and the wedding cake, but that was about it. The place was thronging with people and there was hardly room to move sometimes, but the atmosphere was nice. By eleven o'clock, though, we'd really had enough. We said cheerio to the happy couple and the bride's mum and went back out to the rain. Half an our later we were still trying to find our way back into town and my new shoes were becoming decidedly uncomfortable. Suddenly, Hubby bolted across the road, waving his arms frantically and I wondered uneasily if he'd had one vodka and diet coke too many. As it turned out he'd spotted another black cab so we got in and arrived back at the hotel five minutes later, exhausted, wet and tired.

Just before we settled down for the night, I put our watches and the little travel alarm clock we'd taken along (well we didn't want to miss breakfast, after all we'd paid for it!) forward one hour and then we went to sleep. It was an odd kind of night though. The room was black as black can be and the only way you could use the loo was by turning on the bathroom light which also activated a rather noisy air extractor, and the quilt just got heavier and heavier as the night went on. We were both going from pleasantly warm to boilng hot to freezing cold after kicking off the covers in the space of five minutes, but we did manage to sleep reasonably well. When the alarm went off at 7.30 the next day, we knew we had an hour in which to shower and dress before the dining room would open for breakfast and finally, at around 8.40, we decided we'd waited long enough. We went to the dining room and turned the door handle - it was locked! "Let's give it ten minutes or so," said Hubby. Ten minutes later, we tried again. It was still locked. "I hope they didn't forget to put their clocks forward," I remarked. Another guest appeared and tried the door. It was ten to nine by then and the door was still locked. "Errmmmm..." said Hubby and just then the door opened a crack. A sleepy face peered out. "Dining room opens at eight thirty," the disheveled young lady told us huskily. "But it's ten to nine!" we protested. "The clocks went forward didn't they?" There was a moment of silence as it slowly dawned on our young hostess. "I thought that was tonight," she said in cold terror. "No it was two o'clock this morning!" said Hubby. "I am really sorry," she said, suddenly awake and flustered. "But it'll be half an hour before I can open up because I need to cook." The door snapped shut and we looked at each other. "Let's go and get a paper," said Hubby as we pulled on our coats. So we wandered into the towncentre, via Starbucks (naturally), bought a paper and sat down to breakfast at the hotel almost an hour later than we should have.

Ah well, never mind. What's an hour between friends? It was still a nice hotel and still a good weekend. I just hope we aren't staying there when the clocks go back, that's all!!!!!!