Hostels and Hotels in Slough
Got a hotel to list? – any of these locations then please contact us to list your hotel below, free of charge.
Ascot, Bourne End, Gerrards Cross, Iver, Maidenhead, Marlow, Slough, Windsor
For UK travelers going abroad, we recommend Tenerife, with feel of the UK yet all the sun of Tenerife. Read an extract below from More Ketchup than Salsa, the story of a English couple who left the UK to set up life in Tenerife. Info on how to buy the book can be found below.
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Below you will find short extracts from More ketchup than Salsa by Joe Cawley – not to be missed.
Short Extract
This was another of the undesirable side effects of Joy’s congeniality. While most men, especially those old enough to be her granddad, would enjoy the banter and innocent flirting, there were some who mistook it for genuine enticement. She brought a twinkle to the eye and a shine to the heart of many a greying holidaymaker. On several occasions, the partners of these old, new romantics were less than impressed with their spouse’s infantile obsession with ‘the girl behind the bar’, and occasionally Joy’s seemingly undivided attention would backfire, the husband banned from any further visits to ‘his new girlfriend’ a heartfelt loss for them, a financial one for us. If innocent flirtation sometimes lost us custom, there was one thing that was sure to gain more patrons clickety-click, 66. It was now late November and the sea of faces viewed from behind the bar had changed from the lively surf of suntanned exuberance to the flat, silver calm of a millpond. There aren’t really seasons as such in Tenerife, merely different times of the year for different types of people. Summer, Christmas and most school holidays, were obviously the time for families and groups of young students. November to April was the time for the pensioners, or ‘fish brigade’ as we referred to them, due to their partiality for ‘a nice bit of fish’. Clickety-click was more or less the average age of our post-summer, pre-Christmas crowd. It was also their favourite pastime abroad.
Ascot, Bourne End, Gerrards Cross, Iver, Maidenhead, Marlow, Slough, Windsor
There aren’t really seasons as such in Tenerife, merely different times of the year for different types of people. Summer, Christmas and most school holidays, were obviously the time for families and groups of young students. November to April was the time for the pensioners, or ‘fish brigade’ as we referred to them, due to their partiality for ‘a nice bit of fish’. Clickety-click was more or less the average age of our post-summer, pre-Christmas crowd. It was also their favourite pastime abroad. The bingo stalwarts arrived twenty minutes before we were due to start. After ordering tonic waters, cups of tea and for the more daring, halves of shandy, they all sat down expectantly, pens poised at the ready until business commenced. If the first card didn’t kick off exactly at the time stated on our ‘tonight’s entertainment’ blackboard at the top of the stairs, we knew the clucking would begin. It said ten o’clock. It’s ten past now.’ Bloody revolutions had started on the murmurings of less discontent. Six cards were the norm for the specialists and as Joy read out the numbers, the concentration was intense. Comments such as ‘Hang on, I’ve dropped me balls’, as number thirty-three bounced along the floor, were not appreciated.
By way of an apology for our near incineration, Frank offered to take the four of us out on his boat the following morning. When he wasn’t tampering with gas supplies or threatening to shoot the locals, he could usually be spotted bobbing several hundred yards out at sea with a fishing rod in one hand and a cool beer in the other. He admitted that he wasn’t a people person and even back in the UK he much preferred the companionship of dead carp. David and Faith had to decline the offer as they had to take Mal to the vet. Apparently he was struggling with a combination of heat and stress. Since he’d been released from the airport he’d spent all his time at the back of a wardrobe shedding great tufts of hair and developing an unsightly rash. It was also their night on duty. Frank’s two kids, Danny and Sam, were staying with friends and Al, his alcoholic friend, was recovering from a three-day bender in his apartment. The marina of Puerto Colon has often been called Tenerife’s secret, though how multi-million pounds worth of flashy steel and sail, the majority skippered by a bunch of raucous nouveau riche, can remain a secret is anybody’s guess. Tenerife’s yacht-erati shared their berth with an array of excursion boats, varying in size and comfort from the latest catamaran to converted fishing boats with more on-board animals than Noah’s floating menagerie. There were bright yellow glass-bottom boats, fiery red speedboats, replica schooners and a dozen or so serious ocean-going yachts.