Can hardly bear to look at it. The combination of the words ‘Georgian’ & ‘boutique’ has me reaching for my horsewhip. As for the MFI-style chaise lounge, of which they are evidently so proud, the putrid colour scheme (Diary-of-an-Edwardian-Lady twee meets trendy coordination from a DIY ‘Bugger Up Your Home on the Cheap’ guide) and the hateful little bowls of artistic twigs … sorely tempted to borrow a muck spreader from Mike [a farming friend & fellow programmer].
On Tuesday, I go into a major panic when Mike tells me that client was the designer behind the refurbishment. However, ever the resourceful cad, I realised an ever-so-slight volte face was in order and penned the following:
So you were the interior designer for the hotel, were you? I suspected as much while gazing in stunned admiration and awe at the place last night. Such flair, such sheer elegance could only be your doing. Even ironically postmodernist little touches like the red grouting on the black tiles or the droll little jars of twigs spoke of a consummate artist. As for that exquisite chaise lounge, words fail me and tears course down my cheeks in mute eloquence. The town is surely unworthy of such a palace of sensual delights. I salute you.
By the bye, I suspect that my email & text messaging systems may have been hijacked by some contemptible rustic philistine. Ignore anything I might appear to have sent you. Loyalty prevents me from so much as hinting that Mike is entirely to blame.
Not sure if it will work.
