Calamity Clive’s 1812 overture

Oh they cried, let’s have some more tales of Calamity Clive – and it’s a good job, too, because there is only so much Rogered Rog can do to entertain little ol’ Busty.
So, here we go again. First, dear readers, you have to picture the scene. A balmy evening in the marketing awards season, and our Calamity arrives at the top class Mayfair hotel, Moss Bros suit all bagged up and raring to go. As he was staying at the venue, he booked in as usual, only to be told his suite was not quite ready.
But never one to panic – the awards were at least half an hour away – Clive enquired whether there was a spare room that he could get changed in. Of course, said the concierge, and handed him over the key to Room 1812. To be honest, it wasn’t the sort of palatial quarters our man was used to but he was assured this was just temporary accommodation while his rather more plush expanse was being prepared.
Suited and booted, he handed the key back to the concierge and was assured that his suite would be ready for him way before the end of the festivities. Wine was quaffed, then a little more, then some awards and, luckily, as he was sitting on the same table as the Grand Prix winners, the finest champagne was imbibed.
Much joy and merriment was had by all, none more so than good ol’ Calamity. Being a man of a certain age, though, he decided to pass on the dad dancing, instead heading to the most expensive hotel bar in the world.
Soon it was 3am, and, remembering he had an important client meeting the next day, Clive headed back to the concierge to pick up his key. After a long and staggering trip back up in the lift, he arrived at his room, opened the door only to be greeted by a giant teddy bear sitting on the table. Hmm, that’s odd he thought. Still, without a second glance, he decided to raid the mini bar for the traditional nightcap, and sparked out on the sofa before he could make it to the king-sized bed in the next room.
The next thing he knew, he was being awoken suddenly at 8am by a rather gruff voice: “What the hell are you doing in my room?” the man enquired. Somewhat startled, Clive retorted: “What the hell are you doing in my room, old chap?”
At which point Mr Gruff, then joined by a scantily-clad woman who must have been a third of his age, said: “If you don’t mind, I am staying here with my niece and that is her teddy bear on the table!” At which point, Calamity enquired: “Do you always sleep in a double-bed with your semi-naked niece then?”.
Poor old Gruff then went redder than a beetroot, threw all his toys out of the pram and threatened to call security. “Be my guest”, said Clive, “I’ll even let you use the phone in my room.”
The manager arrived. Profuse apology accepted – and a full refund, complete with a complimentary weekend stay, of course – Calamity was last seen heading back to Room 1812 for his morning overture.

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