Admittedly wandering in and out of the bedrooms of other guests in the massive American hotel was not normal behaviour, especially when dressed in your pyjamas. However, I believed that I had special privileges. I was, after all, a long-term loyal customer of the hotel chain. I explained this to the appalled mother who shielded her toddler when I burst into their room.
From there, I ran along the corridor to catch the lift downstairs to the lobby to meet TPR. A waitress in her smart hotel uniform slipped in beside me. I pressed the button for the ground floor and the lift shunted downwards – and downwards, and downwards, suddenly very quickly. We were in freefall!
Fearing for my life, I scribbled a final message to TPR in the condensation on the steel lift door, with the instruction that he should marry again as soon as possible after my funeral. My words proved redundant when we landed gently at the bottom of the lift shaft, the doors opened, and we walked out into a large underground space laid out like an escape room. The staff who welcomed us there explained the challenge to crack the code. If successful, we would be released.
I knew that TPR would love this, and hoped that he would soon be welcomed to the escape room too. My only was concern was that his sister J had fed him ecstasy disguised as half a mint toffee humbug the previous day when we had been on the beach with our cycling friends WM and BM. He might not yet be in a fit state to take part in the game.
Dreamaticus 