Aled and Ieuian were clearly not best pleased at having to be 'booked in' again by young James; Aled wasting valuable furniture stealing time and Ieuian knowing that enough time was going to be wasted as soon as he started speaking anyway, with his hour-long words. Aled, impatient, went first:

"Right, my name's Aled Jarman Jones," he stated, as sharp as a knife.

"Super," said James, "and where the devil are you from then big boy?"

"Listen Jimmy bach, I'm not that big, and my address is 66, The Valley, Wales. In fact put Cymru because I speak Welsh. A lot."

"Right, that's you done. Ooh pardon! And what about you?" Jimmy looked at Ieuian.

"What about meeeee-uh?" replied the Llanelli boy.

"What's your name handsome?"

"Ieuian Jenkins."

"Haven't you got one in the middle? Ooh pardon!"

"Do you mean a middle name-uh? Oh, well, let's see-uh. I've got two actually-uh. Just I can't remember them. Let me call my mate Tehree-uh." 'Tehree-uh' would be called just Terry to anyone else, but Llanelli folk had their own way of doing (and saying) things. Ieuian was quickly through to his best mate. Everyone else in the room listened attentively to his phone conversation: "Hello-uh, is that Tehree-uh? Hiya, listen mate, what's my middle name-uh? Yeah, both of 'em... I know-uh! I just forgot man! Aw, leave it out Tehree-uh - don't go telling everyone man... look, can you just tell me-uh? Right, thanks a lot, love you-uh!" He put the phone down. "Right," he said to Jimmy, my middle names are Berian and Gwyndaf. Ieuian Berian Gwyndaf Jenkins. And my confirmation name is Dilwyn: Ieuian Berian Gwyndaf Dilwyn Jenkins."

"Bugger me," said Jimmy camply, before blushing. "And where do you come from?"

"My mother!" quipped Ieuian. The joke would have been better received at home than it was here, and Ieuian looked around to find that only Kelly was laughing. In fact she was laughing a lot, and this made Ieuian even more embarrassed. "Er, well, my address is 66, The Valley, Llanelli."

"Ooh pardon?" asked Jimmy.

"What do you mean? There's nothing rude about Llanelli."

"No, I just couldn't hear it properly. How do you spell it? I've got as far as 'Cl' but after that I'm just lost you see tiger..."

"No, it's L-uh, L-uh, A-uh, N-uh, E-uh, L-uh, L-uh, I-uh. OK-uh?"

"Er, right well, er, I don't understand foreign alphabets so I'll just put Scotland." It had been a tedious task, but James had loved filling them in.

Aled was getting restless now and couldn't wait to start his new furniture-hunting adventure. He suspected that the hotel may have a secret loft filled with furniture that was better than everyone elses. This excited him no end. He dashed up the stairs and out of site. Meanwhile, Recky had crawled to Ieuian's feet and was starting to touch his legs. He looked down at her and from his position her ample cleavage was clearly visible. Actually her cleavage was clearly visible from any position at any time. She was a top slag. This excited Ieuian: his boyish good looks meant that he could have almost any woman he wanted, but his accent diminished his sexual prowess to the extent that he could only pull girls from Llanelli, or ones that were hard of hearing. Or the elderly.* In any case, no girl had yet been found that could match his sexual stamina. Ieuian was an absolute sexual beast. He could handle any number of women per day and still demand to see pornogorpahy on telelvision as soon as they had gone home. Any sexual psychologist would be shit scared of him.

"Oh my God - you're a hell of a girl aren't you-uh?" he calmly asked Recky with a glint in his eye.

"I want you," she replied slowly, "come to me..."

"Right! Upstairs!" The two of them were up the dolly dancers in less than four sevenths of a second, and the other guests could soon hear the music of Eric Clapton playing loudly from the Llanelli boy's bedroom. They would be gone a while.

Faniella was having a field day with all the goings on inside the hotel. She would have so much to talk about, though as she was about as popular as a smelly hare in a rabbits only warren-warming party, she would probably have only herself to talk to. It was unlikely that this would deter her. She went to her room to learn to write, which she quite rightly considered ideal preparation for being able to write down all of the day's events.

"Orwight lahrds!" came a sudden shout from the front door. It was Sunbed Dettori, the champagne cockney and friend of Joey Zeus. "What's goin' on?" he asked, as if he was back in good old Walford.

"Watcha Sanbed! Lavvly banch o' coconuts, nice!" replied Joey, nonsensically, "What you doin' 'ere then me old mackah?"

"I've driven ap in me new jam jar in-aye. Cor blimey, what the fack are you larfin at darlin'? You're a fackin' mess lav!" he was talking (sic) to Kelly, who, inevitably, was giggling. Unfortunately for the educated world, she felt the need to reply.

"I'm just (giggle) nervous," she said, nervously, "I've never met a proper Spanish before."

"Right Shadesy," said Sunbed, "give her a fackin' slap for 'er trabble, the cheeky cah!"

The Zeus, who believed that the world would be a better place if everyone just did what they were told to by superior people, like they did 'when the Krays ran the gaff', did exactly as he was told, leaving a red mark on poor Kelly's cheeks.

"On 'er face you mappet!" shouted Sunbed, getting impatient with Joey for misinterpreting his intentions, and also because southerners are naturally impatient. This time Joey did slap her face, and Kelly was visibly upset. She stopped giggling.

"Right, you're going to be in trouble you are," she said, "that's Greavsie's bodily harm that is."

The other guests fell about laughing at Kelly's inane statement, with the exception of Cliché Si, who instead saw the opportunity for a joke about alcohol. He decided against sharing the joke with the rest of the room, primarily because he didn't want to, but also because he knew that only football fans would understand it. It would, therefore, be wasted, as Geordie supported Newcastle (but predictably 'couldn't get tickets') and Sunbed supported Chelsea, and it was well known that most supporters of both of these clubs would have difficulty understanding jokes about football that referred to any year before 1993. This would leave only Joey to get the joke, and, apart from the fact that he wouldn't be interested in the joke as it featured a former West Ham player, he was totally focused on Sunbed as the two 'got all cockney' together.

"So, what you doin' ap 'ere then with all these northern mankees then?" he asked.

"I came to see if you was interested in forming that fascist party we always dreamed of," replied Sunbed.

"Oh geezah! You have made my fackin' day. Right, apstairs!" Joey and Sunbed started walking towards the staircase, but were met by Fierce Tad on the bottom step as he walked down, rubbing his head.

"Where are you three going?" he asked, still a bit dazed.

"What the fack's it gotta do wiv you?" asked Joey, "we're starting a new fascist party if you mast know. Me and Sanbed, the English Cockney Apples 'n' Pairs alliance."

"Oh really?" asked Tad, "can I join in? I'm very patriotic. I founded Little Englander Productions, and I love the Queen and the Commonwealth etc, go on please?"

Liz was quite disturbed at the political leanings of these southern types, and asked them why they were so racist.

"Look lav," said Sunbed, "if they ain't white, then they're no friend o' mine, got it?"

"I'm not so sure about that geezah," said Joey, "I mean, you ain't a man 'til you've shagged a tan."

"And anyway," said Tad, "how can I be racist? My uncle's a Paki."

There was an embarrassed silence. Liz thought that the boys were very ignorant, but Kelly was just confused.

"Well, I think that if people want to race they should be able to," she stated, to looks of derision.

Cliché Si looked on with disgust at this motley crew of characters. He hated every single one of them, with a passion, except possible Liz. He had a venomous look on his face which was very out of character. He was clearly thinking of giving the cockney boys a thump. There was an uneasy silence for a short while.

* Joke © 1999 Euryl Rees.


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© 1999 Vance Productions. Blue Hotel is a work of fiction. All characters portrayed herein are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental. It really is. Blue Hotel™ tubby toys are now available by mail order from VanceProductions. All subscriptions taken by @DVANCE™ direct debit.