Jeccy and the Land of the Nearly Dead (a honeymoon story)
This is 100% true and I don't think I've had the balls to post this before (or actually not found a decent QOTW for this to fit).

My Honeymoon. I still have nightmares to this day.

Tis seemily always down to the hubby-to-be to provide an ample and suitable holiday which we were to enjoy after the wedding. So I was having a hard time with dosh at the time and managed to scrape a lousy £500 together for the budget. I have a chat with the wife to be and she mentioned that her passport had just expired and was waiting on a new one anyway, so we couldn't go abroad. All she wanted was somewhere classy and away from the city-life. With this in mind and money in wallet, I head on out to the nearest travel agents. I grab a load of UK based holiday brouchers and get home, researching through a load of them and picking a few of the best. One of these was a hotel just to the south of Great Yarmouth. I grab the number and ring up "Warner Breaks" to find out more. I explain that we're looking for a hotel somewhere as part of a honeymoon, and they organise a room for two in a place called "Gunton Hall". Don't google it yet (like I fecking should've), you'll ruin the surprise.

We get married in Gretna Green, come back to Swansea then load the car up and drive for 8 hours straight to Great Yarmouth. It's quite dark by now (just past 8pm) and we finally manage to find the parking for this place. From the outside it looks rather large, and 1st impressions are ok with both of us. What looks like an indoor swimming pool conservatory is visible to our right, and we are both smiling.
We reach reception. The girl behind the counter is kind of looking at us odd but helps us with our luggage. She leads us through an eating area where there are a few elderly people just eating supper, then we are led to a shalley?
"Um, didn't I book for the hotel room?" asks me.
"I'm sorry, we do not have hotel rooms here, only shalley appartments" is the answer she gives. Where the fuck are we?
We get in the room; it looked like an old OLD version of Butlins. One of the cupboard doors is hanging off and there's a spider in the corner. The missus is close to tears.
"I'll have someone's head in the morning. We'll sort this out love, don't worry."

The next morning comes. We glance out of the window. There's a tennis court in front of us. Odd, but hey ho. I head to reception, say hello to some elderly couple walking past and pass the canteen. More elderly people eating breakfast. In fact, there seems to be alot of elderly people in here. Looking at me. Uh oh.
I get to reception.
"Excuse me...is this a place for the elderly?"
"Yes sir, anyone in particular you're looking for?"
"Um......no? I will be back soon." I walk off gobsmacked. I get back to the wife and tell her to pack her stuff and come for a walk. We walk around the ground while dragging our luggage besides us and pass a small field, which we bear witness to what must've been the euthanasia group; there were a group of elderies practicing archery. We see the building which we believed to be an indoor swimming pool; nope, it's an indoor bowling green.

After a huge bustup with the sales team with Warner we were eventually only able to get 50% of our money back as we did stay the one night. Fecking bastards.

The following year we got the passports done and did another cheap holiday; this time by coach to Germany and had an awesome time though, so they're not all bad.

Length, about 86 pensions and a bow 'n' arrow.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Tue 8 Jan 2008, 11:48, 3 replies)

Dining with death
One Sunday a few months back, we were off on a family trip to meet up with some friends at a nearby-ish country house. We had arranged to meet them in the early afternoon, so decided to stop on the way to get lunch. We kept an eye out for child-friendly pubs (ours are three and five years old) as we motored along but then our eye was caught by a roadside sign offering roast lunch in a pleasant atmosphere, families welcome. Ideal.

We pulled up into the car park, the place looked nice enough, pleasant view and so on. So in we went.

The people at the desk gave a slightly odd look when we came in and asked for a table for four, but were friendly enough and showed us to a place by the window. Which is when, as we sat ourselves down and looked around, we became aware that we were the youngest people there by at least four decades.

It seemed the restaurant was actually part of an old people's retirement complex. Presumably locals would've been aware of the nature of the place, and I suppose it'd be odd to put up a sign saying "no young people". But it was a very uncomfortable hour, sat there feeling rather self-conscious as this herd (there's no other word for it) of geriatrics gazed over at us like starved cows surveying a field of lush grass.

While most of them smiled, some clearly resented the intrusion of a group of potentially rowdy youngsters into their quiet wait for the numbness of the big sleep. I kept my eyes on my plate and tried to keep the kids from making any sudden loud noises, for fear of causing a series of fatal cardiac arrests.

The kids were oblivious of course but did us proud and behaved impeccably. We got out as soon as we'd finished our meal, scared for a fleeting moment that the woman at the reception desk would tell us as we headed for the door,

"You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave."
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Tue 8 Jan 2008, 13:16, closed)

Wild Night Out in Suffolk
I lived in Lowestoft not far from Gunton Hall when I was growing up. Even in that godforsaken, benighted dump of a place Gunton Hall had a reputation as a place where people went to die.

The only time I went in there was to visit a mate who was working the bar on a sunday night in January. I'm sure you can imagine what a blast that was...
( DrPrunesquallor is determined to post more as of, Tue 8 Jan 2008, 13:50, closed)

Chicago backpackers hostel
I had a similar experience in Chicago, I phoned and booked a hostel bed and upon arrival was basically sent down to the basement.

Next day I was rather curious about all the mongs, elderly and weirdos shuffling around the corridors at ground level.
Turns out the place was a home for those members of the family you'd rather not share a roof with and they made extra money on the side by bunging bunk beds in the basement and calling that a "hostel".
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Tue 8 Jan 2008, 16:17, closed)