We want doors!
Discussion
I went away with Mrs P to a chain hotel, the sort which is excellent value for money and you know what you are getting regardless of location. I was very surprised therefore to find the bathroom door looked like this:
I’m sure in romantic getaway hotel room the opportunity to glimpse your partner in the shower may be just the ticket but I wasn’t expecting a trip to the door to give the possibility of full eye contact whilst they are mid flow.
This follows on from a business hotel I stayed at in Amsterdam with work where I was sharing a room with a colleague where the shower was on full view in the middle of the room. I don’t know about anyone else but nothing sets me up for the day like a front row seat for a mate washing his junk. (I don’t have a photo of this)
When did this bizarre design come in and what strange examples have PHs been subjected to?
I’m sure in romantic getaway hotel room the opportunity to glimpse your partner in the shower may be just the ticket but I wasn’t expecting a trip to the door to give the possibility of full eye contact whilst they are mid flow.
This follows on from a business hotel I stayed at in Amsterdam with work where I was sharing a room with a colleague where the shower was on full view in the middle of the room. I don’t know about anyone else but nothing sets me up for the day like a front row seat for a mate washing his junk. (I don’t have a photo of this)
When did this bizarre design come in and what strange examples have PHs been subjected to?
Sorry OP, but this post will close the thread. Still laughing 13 years later......
I confess to feeling self-conscious when last night's lamb dhansak, chana masala, keema naan and Cobra is struggling its way out and making a lot of fuss while it does, especially when the traps to either side are occupied by chaps who seem to be able to lay one down with barely a splash, but for true embarrassment, you need a hotel room on your first night away with a new cutie.
So lots of charming conversation and civilised behaviour and attention to personal hygiene and nipping outside to fart have paid off, and several months in it's time for a romantic weekend away. The hotel room is in a dead trendy boutique place, and the wall between bedroom and bathroom is frosted glass. All other bathroom walls are tiled for maximum reverb. The door is also glass, and does not seal in any way - half-inch gaps all round. So you are effectively in the same room as the bed, which is where you leave your amour, curled up and warm ("hurry back", she murmurs) on the morning after a nice Moroccan meal with plenty of chickpeas, spiced lamb, falafel and so on, plus a couple of bottles of rough red, and whisky to finish. You pace with measured tread to the echo chamber, then hunker down to answer the insistent call from the lower colon.
To begin with, it sounded like a duck being strangled half-underwater, then as if thirty clowns wearing oversize rubber shoes were having a sprinting race over a massive bowl of jelly, then as I desperately applied restrictive pressure, it faded into an anguished squeak like a deflating balloon, then as my muscle control gave out, a series of small escaping explosions escalated into a titanic rasp that echoed for several seconds.
Having done the paperwork, brushed everywhere in the bowl, including the underside of the seat (how in the name of gravity could that have happened?), washed hands, and assumed as nonchalant an expression as I could muster, I strolled back in to find her sitting up, covers drawn protectively up under her chin, eyes like a lemur, asking whether I was ok, and did I need medical attention?
Kind of killed the mood, rather.
Original post ajcj Thursday 12th November 2009 https://www.pistonheads.com/gassing/topic.asp?h=0&...
I confess to feeling self-conscious when last night's lamb dhansak, chana masala, keema naan and Cobra is struggling its way out and making a lot of fuss while it does, especially when the traps to either side are occupied by chaps who seem to be able to lay one down with barely a splash, but for true embarrassment, you need a hotel room on your first night away with a new cutie.
So lots of charming conversation and civilised behaviour and attention to personal hygiene and nipping outside to fart have paid off, and several months in it's time for a romantic weekend away. The hotel room is in a dead trendy boutique place, and the wall between bedroom and bathroom is frosted glass. All other bathroom walls are tiled for maximum reverb. The door is also glass, and does not seal in any way - half-inch gaps all round. So you are effectively in the same room as the bed, which is where you leave your amour, curled up and warm ("hurry back", she murmurs) on the morning after a nice Moroccan meal with plenty of chickpeas, spiced lamb, falafel and so on, plus a couple of bottles of rough red, and whisky to finish. You pace with measured tread to the echo chamber, then hunker down to answer the insistent call from the lower colon.
To begin with, it sounded like a duck being strangled half-underwater, then as if thirty clowns wearing oversize rubber shoes were having a sprinting race over a massive bowl of jelly, then as I desperately applied restrictive pressure, it faded into an anguished squeak like a deflating balloon, then as my muscle control gave out, a series of small escaping explosions escalated into a titanic rasp that echoed for several seconds.
Having done the paperwork, brushed everywhere in the bowl, including the underside of the seat (how in the name of gravity could that have happened?), washed hands, and assumed as nonchalant an expression as I could muster, I strolled back in to find her sitting up, covers drawn protectively up under her chin, eyes like a lemur, asking whether I was ok, and did I need medical attention?
Kind of killed the mood, rather.
Original post ajcj Thursday 12th November 2009 https://www.pistonheads.com/gassing/topic.asp?h=0&...
Edited by alfaspecial on Sunday 29th January 20:23
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