I bumped into my old mate, Jeff, over the weekend, who’d recently returned from a three-night stay at the Royal Terrace Hotel in the centre of Edinburgh. He had loads of good things to say about the city and, in particular, the hotel itself, which he described as a wonderful example of Georgian architecture with stunning landscaped gardens, luxurious interiors and a breakfast to die for. However, he was also keen to forewarn me – in case I should ever decide to act upon his recommendation – that the musak in the hotel elevator left an awful lot to be desired.
According to Jeff, and I have no reason to doubt his word, the music being pumped into the elevator – which, unfortunately, he had to utilize throughout his stay, due to twisting an ankle whilst drunk on the first night – consisted solely of Beatles songs being performed on the pan pipes!
(Before you continue, you may wish to contemplate how mawkish hogwash, played on instruments used by digital shopping channels to hypnotise pensioners into buying more tat than they can afford, may sound in such a confined space.)
Jeff portrayed every single one of the trips he had to make in that elevator as a deeply unsavoury experience. However, it was as he embarked upon his final descent on the last day, en route to reception to check out, which would prove to be his most testing time on tartan turf to date.
Apparently, within seconds of him hobbling into the already crowded elevator, the opening bars of ‘Michelle’ were just starting to rear their ugly heads. From what I can gather, even with the offending version being instrumental – thus sparing Jeff the additional trauma of hearing ‘Michelle’ rhymed with ‘ma belle’ on numerous occasions – it was, nevertheless, still no easy ride.
In fact, he claimed that, due to the elevator stopping at every floor on the way down, (including one delay of around 45 seconds, when a man insisted on holding the doors, whilst his wife ran back to their room to retrieve something), by the time he had finally managed to drag himself and his luggage to safety, he had endured almost the entire song.
(If you’re ever bored on a long journey, why not melt away some of the miles by making up a list of more appropriate music you could provide for your patrons – whilst in transit between floors – if you yourself were the manager of a large Edinburgh hotel. The one time I had a go, I’d managed to list harp music from Glasgow’s William Jackson, numerous works from Scottish composers like Sir John Blackwood McEwen, William Wallace and Hamish MacCunn plus a wealth of offerings from various contemporary Celtic artists such as Cappercaille, the Battlefield band and local Leith lad, Dick Gaughan, before I’d reached the end of my road)
That said, as Jeff was at pains to point out, apart from the unpleasant elevator experiences, he would highly recommend the place to anyone. Therefore, if you are planning a trip to the fair city of Edinburgh anytime soon and think you may be tempted by some of the many delights the hotel has to offer, (not least its reasonable rates and excellent location), but, like me, would rather sit through an Elton John tantrum than suffer the same fete as Jeff, I’ve devised a simple procedure providing a pragmatic approach to preventing any panpipe predicaments on the premises during your visit, which will enable you to enjoy a Beatle-free break within this Fab Four friendly establishment.
All you need do, If you should decide to make The Royal Terrace Hotel your hostelry of choice, is to request a ground floor room in advance when you make your reservation or, if none are available during the period you wish to stay, just remember to always take the stairs.
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