Those of you who regularly visit my blog will have no doubt noticed that I haven’t written anything in around ten days. It’s not through lack of inspiration, or an unwillingness to put fingertips to keyboard. Far from it. No, the reason I haven’t written anything for a while is entirely down to the fact that my mum has not been at all well, and I have been in the UK to try and help cheer her up.
One of the ways in which I tried to cheer up my mum, was by whisking her and my dad away to York for a couple of days. Whilst my dad was party to my subterfuge, my mum was blissfully unaware and totally bowled over when I showed her photos of the hotel I’d booked and said we were staying there. She was gobsmacked, and almost made me cry when, after I’d said, “I’m glad you like the look of the hotel because we’re going there tomorrow” she looked up at me almost pleadingly and said, “Really? Honestly?”
We stayed at the Mercure York Fairfield Manor Hotel. I certainly chose well, even if I do admit so myself! The hotel and its staff were wonderful. Nothing was too much trouble. However, one of aspects of the hotel which really caught both my attention and imagination was the staircase. To my eye, it appeared to be somewhere betwixt art nouveau and art deco, with its early 20th century elegant curve and 1930s decor. In the evenings after dinner, I would sit in the lounge, a large glass of wine in my hand, and I would look at the staircase. Often, I would fancy I saw Jean Harlow or Vivien Leigh coming down the stairs in some fabulous gown that was beautifully set off by a gorgeous stole.
Oh! You may scoff at my indulgence, or pass off my mindful meanderings as nothing more than the after effects of the wine. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it was a little of both. Not that it matters to me, for if we do away with romance, what else is there?