some creative writing - notting hill hotel

I feel dirty but not in a good way.It was the smell that woke me at dawn. The stench of urine, fear and death. The fragrance of terror clung to the hallway carpet like a randy dog on a free leg. Enough was enough....I needed caffene and nicotine. I went to the murderous work surface and inspected the kettle. It was filled with piss, blood and broken dreams. “Pah!” I spat and reached for my newly branded cigarettes in their pink trimmed packaging - bastards!
Cursing loudly, I strode manfully to the door and opened it. I reeled back as the foul air from the hallway hit me with its full force. Longing for the stink of my own cats instead of this hellish reek I bound purposely down the stairs and with my eyes stinging and supressing a gag I reached the front door and embraced the fresh, perfumed air of Holland Park Avenue.
I inhaled deeply on my cigarette and breathed in the early morning air, feeling a heady rush of freedom. A female jogger ran past looking disapprovingly at me as I looking approvingly at her buttocks struggling in tight black lycra.
My heart sinks as I stride back up the path to the front door. Best not to dwell in the hallway where the heat of the morning sun is turning the atmosphere riper if thats at all possible. Gasping, I re-enter the bedroom. My wife is lying, tits akimbo ,asleep. "Fart damn you! and freshen this place up a bit!" I think to myself. Unsurprisingly she failed to comply with my silent plea and instead awoke,looked shocked for a moment and said "ohh dammit,yam yow(she's Birminghamese) oi thort it werse a bad dreeem,but it aint is it...ohh woe up the Villa...up the Villa". Then there was a knock on the door.
I opened the door and two naked filipino maids entered carrying the pestilence called breakfast. I'd seen them in a small room on my dash up the hallway. They'd been greasing and applying hairs to cutlery and the salt and pepper shakers. I noticed shackle marks on their ankles and wrists. I motioned them to set the breakfast on the ramshackle table with a brutal nod. They did so bowing and giggling and scurried back to the, smiling as they did so, revealing teeth that appeared to be sharpened to points....and then they were gone.
I examined the steaming heap on the breakfast plates and pruggled the constituents with the greasy, hairy fork. There appeared to be nothing wrong with the egg. However, one sausage seemed to have knuckles and a finger nail and the other had a foreskin. Puzzlingly the bacon rind on both plates seemed to show sliced portions of a Chealsea tattoo.
"We're going to have to fake it" I whispered to Estelle and with that we set to our fake breakfast with gusto exclaiming "Yum!" and "Lovely Bacon" loud enough for anyone lurking beyond the door to hear. All the while I was scraping the sinister meal into a bag to hide in the stained,steaming swing bin.
I turned to Estelle.
"We've got to go" I said, "As a loving husband there is no way I'm letting you go into that hallway again."
She had tears in her eyes, I like to pride myself as a man who "knows women". I knew was sad to be leaving.
But hell, I could tell we weren't safe here and we had to get away FAST. I started knotting the sheets together to for an escape rope, a trick I'd learnt in the 90's when I was a fireman themed exotic dancer in the berlesque dance troupe called "Wind"........
We tied one end of our fashioned rope to the heavy ornamental black panther clock that loomed threateningly on the kitchen cabinets. Estelle tested it for strength and with a trump for luck looped the rope out of the window and assumed her commando position on the window ledge. I loaded her up with the dozen suitcases we'd brought with us and thanked the gods that she'd been a hod carrier in her previous career.
"Get on my back, theres plenty of room" she gasped.
"No old girl" I said as I patted her lovingly on the forehead, "You go and don’t stop running until you hit the tube station, I have to settle the bill".
With that she was gone and grunting and shinning her way down the front of the building.
I find myself breathing through my mouth and considering a button with the legend ”Push for assistance” on a grubby sticker above it. My finger hovered for a second and pressed the button. The door groaned open and a crone with a throwing knife clenched between her teeth came out.
"I've come to pay the bill" I whined nasally.
"Oh yes, I have your bill here ,it has been processed" she said as she disappeared back behind the door.
A dog barked and she emerged again clutching a faeces encrusted creased receipt.
"Did you enjoy your stay?" she leered.
"Ummm, yes fine, late night, bit under the weather" I replied beating a hasty exit and leaving her far behind me....
We're on the tube, breathing the fresh nostril blackening air and giggling like teenagers. We're giddy, high and I feel love thumping through my soul. God I haven't felt this happy since our wedding day.
"Well, that’s the last time I drag you to London to catch up with a Grailhunter. I'm so sorry my old sweetheart, never again" I say to the slightly ditzy Estelle...
"ohh," she fluttered, "I found him quite charming"..
"hmm, yes he's a nice bloke" I replied.
"He's got a lovely smile" she said.
"oh er yes very individual" I said.
"And there's definately something quite handsome about him..and he's much taller in real life" she gushed.
"Yes, I suppose he is quite tall", I replied.
"You know when he said goodbye?" she asked.
"Yes?" I replied.
"I nearly licked his face" she giggled.
And that's when I crumpled.
Of all the things! of all the shame, how could I ever hold my head up again in public? Me! All my guitars! My charm! My curry pasties! All that and my wife had fallen for a drummer! ......