Whoever said Somerset was sleepy clearly hasn’t seen what is going on in the village down the road!
I’ve just seen an advert for a campsite nearby which looks nice – if it wasn’t for the fact it’s a swingers retreat! Nothing against anyone who is, but I’m just not that way inclined. I wonder what they’ve shortened that to? If glamorous camping is ‘Glamping’ perhaps partner swapping camping is ‘Swamping’?
The ad wasn’t even at the back of the latest edition of ‘The Somerset Guide to Swinging’ – I made that up…..or did I? It was just there on the pages of a local newspaper and it got me to thinking about a holiday we had in America.
It must have been about eight years ago and my husband and I had gone to Palm Springs.
The hotel cost for the night was covered and we didn’t have kids at the time.
The first night day and night was lovely. We sipped cocktails by the pool, swam and slept.
By night we got chatting to a friendly couple in the bar.
I’d commented on how we must have looked very antisocial since I was on my phone googling alongside my husband instead of engaging in conversation.
I explained we were looking for somewhere else to stay for an extra night, but everywhere was booked .
They quickly gave us the name of a ‘boutique’ hotel not far away and said it had a pool, big rooms and everyone was really friendly.
Even though I couldn’t find much about it online, I did see a couple of reviews and thought we could at least go and have a look at it before we booked the room. Surely the worst that could happen is we didn’t like it and we drove home instead. That wasn’t the worst that could happen.
The next day we enthusiastically packed our bag and headed off to have a look at his place. We pulled up to property and struggled to find the entrance.
I noticed a large wooden door (no revolving door here) and knocked loudly. A little shutter opened up and a friendly face peered through at us before giving us a look up and down and letting us in. A bit odd, I know but since as she opened the door a gorgeous black lab puppy bounded out to great us and I figured that was the reason it was so secure. She shook our hands and said she’d take us to the reception to sit down while her husband, Tom, finished some paperwork and would come and give us a tour to see if we liked it.
We couldn’t see anything of the hotel from the reception but it felt warm and inviting. “It’s a bit unusual but it seems nice here,” I whispered to my husband.
A few minutes later Sandra said Tom was ready and she lead us to a desk. Tom was stood behind it and to my surprise I saw he was shirtless. “Casual” for front desk I thought but didn’t think too much more about it since it was 40 degrees celsius.
“Right, ready for the tour” he asked. It all seemed a little over the top but since they didn’t have a website I figured this was the intimate way they liked to deal with their guests.
“Yep, ready, we echoed,” and the of the front desk lifted up and he walked towards us with his hand outstretched. He wasn’t shirtless, he was NUDE. Completely and utterly butt naked except for his white trainers. He turned to close said desk and I swiveled with horror to face my husband who was somehow managing to keep a very straight face. I desperately tried to get his attention but it was as if he was savoring just how awkward he knew I would be feeling.
I was given what I can only imagine was one of the most in depth tours I have ever been given of a hotel as Tom introduced us to the guests around the pool.
How fortunate that Mr. and Mrs. I’ve Got No Tan Lines were from England and had loads to chat to us about, and Sir. Tallywacker couldn’t wait to shimmy to the end of his sun lounger so we could talk more about what made us move to LA.
My head was spinning not only because of the heat but because my attempts to avert my eyes at every given turn was making me dizzy.
They asked if I wanted a swim, but not only was there a nude couple playing volleyball, the puppy was in there too! That’s one swimming pool filter I would not like to clean out.
After 20-gruelling minutes I couldn’t take it anymore and the only excuse I could come up with (no pun intended) was that I was hungry and I needed to go and get something to eat before we decided if this was the place for us. HUNGRY!!!!! I can tell you now after the sights I saw I didn’t eat for a week.
So thank you very much to the Queen Camel swingers’ campsite’s very kind advert invitation but I think I’ll give it a miss this time.
Somehow our adventures in a static caravan suddenly seem that much more appealing.