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Greetings From The Grand Hotel Scarborough

The term “Faded Glory” probably
best sums-up Scarborough’s Grand Hotel.
Its austere brickwork the colour of nicotine.
Its mismatched carpets pre-decimalisation.
Completed in 1867, it looms large above the seaside town,
casting long shadows over the harbour and the South Bay.
The Grand boasts 2 Restaurants, 3 bars
and the most cases of food-poisoning
of any hotel in the North Yorkshire area.
Its 4 towers represent the 4 periodic seasons.
Its 12 floors represent the 12 months of the year.
And its 52 chimneys represent the 52 calendar weeks.
Jack Torrance, an aspiring playwright, is in the room next door.
Marion Crane is taking a shower in the room right across the hall.
The emergency number to contact reception is 6666.
(The Number Of The Beast, plus an extra 6 for good measure).
I’m trying hard not to think about how many people must
have died in the bed that I’ll be sleeping in later tonight.
Check-out, it’s worth noting, is 10am sharp.



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