Wirelessless.

Oh, Look! The internet! Yes, I remember that. I've been away from being online properly for five days because I've been staying at the Travelodge in Manchester and their Wifi is incredibly fictional. Oh, yes, they advertise Wifi all over the place. They're so proud of their Wifi. Everywhere you go you see posters bragging about the buckets of Wifi they have lying all over the place at the Travelodge yet there is no Wifi to be seen. Er...felt. Whatever. It's like the Travelodge is a Grandparent and Wifi is the dead Grandchild that it overcompensates for by keeping it's picture on every single wall of the building. The Wifi is gone, Travelodge. Move on. It's what it would want.

Not that they believe you. To them, their little Wifi is alive and well and doing very well, thank you. I checked in and immediately switched on my computer. I had more things to hate about Mums so I had to blog right away but the Wifi just wasn't working. I switched my computer on and off again. I even did the technical thing of leaving it for a bit and seeing if magic made the Wifi come on but nothing happened. Crap. I'd have to talk to hotel staff.

Luckily, I had a choice of two door-slammed faced, brain-fucked morons to choose from. I went for the male one because the female one was a bit busy looking at the wall. "The Wifi isn't working in my room", I informed him. "What?", he said.

Brilliant. O'Brien's Sandwich Shop in Edinburgh is now closed and their staff have moved to Manchester.

I repeated my problem and he smiled and informed me that Wifi is available at this hotel. That's good to know but what I was telling him was that the Wifi wasn't working. "Oh, yes. The Wifi isn't working. That's right", he said with more joy than he has ever truly experienced in his life.

"So, there's no Wifi here?", I said.

"Yes".

"There is? Good. Like I was saying, it's not working in my room. Can I get moved to another room, perhaps?"

"I just told you. The Wifi isn't working".

"But you just said that you have Wifi".

"We do".

"But it's not working?"

"That's right. Can I help you with anything else?"

"What do you mean 'Anything else'? If the Wifi isn't working then you have no Wifi".

"We do have Wifi, Sir. It's in every room".

"But it's not working?"

"Yes".

"That means you don't have Wifi".

He smiled a smile that heavily suggested that I simply didn't understand the hotel business as well as he did. He then sighed and explained to me that although the Wifi hasn't been working for over a week an engineer is coming out to fix it. Fine. When? "Next week".

"SO, IN OTHER WORDS YOU DON'T HAVE WIFI?"

"Yes, we do. It's just not available".

What the fuck did that mean? Is he hoarding all the Wifi for himself? Like his ambitions, I just gave up on him. But as I walked away he called to me. "Are you in room 110?", he shouted.

I came back to reception and said yes. "Right. You still need to pay £10 for your early check in this afternoon".

I have to pay £10? For a room that was sitting empty, waiting for me, just because I checked in two hours early? Even though that room was sitting in limbo doing nothing? I have to pay for my own room? WITH SMASHED WIFI?

The man saw that I looked furious and chose to wave the fee. A shame as I now wanted to do nothing else with my life but shout at him. Just then, the female moron stopped staring at the really brilliant wall and decided she would "help". She called the Wifi engineer and explained the situation. She was on the phone to him for 15 minutes and when she hung up she beamed both her teeth at me and said that the engineer would come out and fix the Wifi next week.

I knew that. Male moron had already told me. I'm going off to sit in my room and hate everything.

But, no. I wasn't allowed to do even that. Male moron II turned up.

"Is it Wifi you're after?"

"I can't remember anymore", I said.

"Well, it's not working".

"AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHH", I wrote.

"But if you go over there, right into the corner of the bar and hold the laptop up you can sometimes get it. It's the only spot in the hotel where it works. Just over there. Behind that sofa right at the back. In the corner. Just lift your laptop up and you should be able to get a signal".

I was about to scream at him when he said this...

"Costs £10".

You know, if you ever meet someone who thinks it's fine for you to pay £10 to stand in a corner, holding up a laptop and basically beg for Wifi you just know that they aren't worth arguing with. They won't get it. They will do anything to avoid dignity and can't comprehend people who have even a trace amount of it. I walked away without a word.

So you see, I should have been blogging every day while in Manchester but I wasn't allowed. Now you will never know about me meeting up with most of The Gentleman's Review, getting stuck in a loud conversation with a woman who constantly spat at me while repeatedly saying that Jason Mansfield is her favourite comedian, me turning Billie Piper's Honey To The Bee into The Streets' Dry Your Eyes, my day of seven poos, my lovely new socks and Jason "Mansfield"'s Dad calling me a cunt. He might be the most famous person's Dad to call me a cunt so far. But you'll never know these tales. Send your complaints to the Travelodge in Manchester.

Just don't expect them to do anything.

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