Guest User
September 15, 2023
I can only add my humble voice to the cacophonous chorus of warnings that have come before me and beseech you to heed our words, dear, sweet, unknown traveller... Do not spend the night here. Do not spend the night near here. Do not so much as pass by, lest your untroubled mind and unburdened soul be forever tarnished by this unspeakable blight upon the landscape. If you have the misfortune to live near the Bull and Bush Hotel, gather your loved ones and your cherished possessions and make haste by land or sea using whatever means are at your disposal, utilise locomotives, seafaring craft or beasts of burden and depart for pastures which are surely brighter than this forsaken, sorrowful pit of abject despair and utter desolation. I travel for work and in seven long years this may be the single most soul crushingly depressing, the most gag inducingly rancid and blood boilingly, ineptly managed hotel I have ever had the deep misfortune to spend the night in. It is too late for me to escape. Only the beating of my anxious heart assures me that I have not crossed a phantom threshold and find myself in a squalid, forgotten corner of hell itself. Instead I am merely in Kingston, beset by sagging, soiled mattresses, suspiciously stained bedsheets, mouldy bathrooms crusted with scum and darkened, foreboding corridors above a disused pub which I fear come the morn will bear witness to my gruesomely mangled body. Even the curtains, sagging and torn seem to lean towards the scuffed and grimy window, as though in a desperate attempt to liberate themselves from the ghastly smell that hangs over this place like a pestilent cloud. I would have come to consider of myself as alone here, were it not for the coy and seditious employee who spoke with me, unseen, via intercom, giving confusing and half intelligible instructions like a deceiving imp, my only reward for deciphering his riddles, to enter this towering monument to unpleasantness. My only purpose now as night draws in and the cries of roving vagabonds and sirens split the humid air is to warn you. Save thyself dear traveller. Do not stay here.