A Cheap Bastard Goes to London

Our boat to the USA was to leave from Southampton. That is a city in England. England once governed America, but eventually we Americans revolted. This stemmed from England’s tax policy, which nobody in America could understand. The assessors all spoke with an indecipherable accent, called money “pounds,” and measured weight in “stones.” War was inevitable, and might have been lost but for the Brits’ baffling habit of driving on the wrong side of the road.

Things are different today. Americans love to visit England to look at old rocks somebody arranged in a field called Stonehenge. I haven’t seen the rocks, but years ago Denise and I went to London and visited many equally boring places.

We recently returned to London, but only because it was on our way to Southampton. Denise wanted to rent a car and see Stonehenge, but I held out for a stay at the West End, which is London’s Broadway. I wanted to see The Mousetrap, a “whodunit” by Agatha Christie. It opened in 1952 and is the longest running play in history. “It has been there a long time” may not be the best reason to see a play, but it is an even worse reason to see a bunch of big rocks arranged in a distant field.

Because I am a cheap bastard, I looked hard to find an inexpensive hotel in the West End, close to the subway, and close St. Martin’s Theater, where we would see The Mousetrap. I quickly found that the key adjective, “inexpensive,” does not apply to anything in the West End. The best I could do was a hotel called “Zedwell Underground Tottenham Court Road Hotel,” which cost “only” 137 pounds. That may not seem like a lot, but the Brits charge $1.26 per pound, making the room rate about $175. The hotel was, however, in the West End and close to both the theater and a subway station.

Our flight arrived in London at about 10 a.m. Even after gathering checked bags, going through customs and passport control, and figuring out the London subway system, we arrived at the hotel two hours before our 3:00 p.m. matinee. 3:00 p.m. also was our Zedwell check-in time, but I thought perhaps we might be allowed to check-in early. Failing that, we would trust our bags to the hotel while we got something to eat and saw the play.

I do not know why the hotel’s name incorporates almost its entire street address, but I had assumed that it was called “Zedwell Underground” because it is next to a subway station. Not so. It is called the “Zedwell Underground” because the hotel is literally underground. We took an elevator one floor down from street level to find the reception.

A very nice lady, with a warm and friendly smile, told us very sweetly that they had a room available for us, even though we were two hours early. My sigh was audible. “But,” she said, still smiling sweetly, “There is a 40 quid charge for an early check-in.” Seeing my confusion, Denise leaned over and whispered, “That’s about $50.”

We cheap bastards do not pay $50 to check-in two hours early. No, I said, we would like to just leave our bags while we see the play. “Of course,” the young lady said. She peered over the counter at our two large suitcases and asked, “How much do they weigh?”

I thought this an odd question, but I knew we had just barely met the airline’s twenty kilo limitation. “About 45 pounds,” I said.

“So about three stone,” she said. “That will be ten pounds per bag.”

I blame our hectic and anxiety-inducing travels for my not immediately decoding her statement. At that moment I thought “three stone” had something to do with our three o’clock check-in time. Thinking she had not properly heard me, I nodded toward the large bags and said, “They weigh about 45 pounds, but our backpacks are maybe ten pounds each.”

“They also will be ten pounds.”

“I know,” I replied. “That’s what I just said. They each have a computer and other electronics and so each weighs about ten pounds.”

“Yes.” She said this with a smile that was somewhat less warm than the one she used when greeting us. “They will be ten pounds each.”

The receptionist observed my nervous habit of blinking real fast when something doesn’t make sense. She said, “We charge ten pounds for all bags weighing less than three and half stone.”

The proverbial light came on. I had never before been refused a slightly early check-in, except when the room was not yet available. I also have never had a hotel refuse to safeguard luggage while we wait to check-in, but Zedwell was going to charge $50 for that small courtesy. I would have refused, I would have sat in the lobby and for two hours consumed the hotel’s dishwater tea, but the play started at the same moment as our scheduled check-in. We could not schlep all our luggage to the theater.

I looked to my left, where tea was available for guests. I felt a vestigial urge to throw it in Boston Harbor. I looked back to the lady. “Fine.” I said.

So it turns out that cheap bastards sometimes WILL pay $50 for an early check-in.

Had I looked at the hotel web site before booking a room, I would have found that it did not gloss over the fact that it is, essentially, a basement. To the contrary, the hotel brags that it is London’s “first and only underground hotel experience.” Allegedly, its “subterranean haven creates an atmosphere of tranquility, offering a respite from the bustling city above.”

It is true that we heard nothing of the above-ground traffic noise. We did, however, hear the rumble of every subway train passing through the Tottenham Court station, and a LOT of trains passed through that station. I was reminded of our stay in Budapest, which was during a Harley-Davidson rally.

In closing, I should say that I have unfairly picked on Stonehenge and on London. Everyone should go to London at least once, just as everyone should eventually look at pictures of Stonehenge. And while the Zedwell Underground Tottenham Court Road Hotel deserves even more scorn than I have heaped upon it, that hotel had many distinct advantages over our lodging in New York City.

Tune in next week to follow the Cheap Bastard in the Big Apple. Meanwhile, here is a fellow with an amusing bit about accents.