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Bee hotel receives scathing Tripadvisor review

A BEE hotel hanging from a tree at the bottom of a garden has received a brutal review on Tripadvisor, it has emerged.

The hotel, which was described as a ‘boutique rustic rural getaway’, was found to be just a few bits of bamboo glued together in a vague house shape, swinging from a branch next to the Booker family’s vegetable patch.

The review left by a group of bees who visited for a special birthday said: “We expected a luxury experience, given that we’re saving humanity by pollinating most of their food crops. However the service was nonexistent, the shower was cold and the towels weren’t fluffy.

“It was incredibly noisy all night. We could hear a pair of foxes fornicating just outside, and a group of cats spent the night howling at each other in the street. None of us got any sleep.

“On top of that, it obviously hadn’t been cleaned lately, the view from the room was rubbish and there was a real whiff coming from the compost bin which was positioned very close by. Avoid at all costs.”

A spokesperson for the Booker family said: “We’ve had lots of trouble with fake reviews. It was probably wasps again.”

'So I was good enough for you during the hard times but now you've run off to your fancy villa in Greece?'

By your Welsh holiday cottage

OH, you were glad enough of me in 2020. And 2021. You fell into my loving embrace and told me how important I was to you. But where are you now? F**king Zante.

I remember when I first welcomed you through my charming oaken doors. ‘My God how I need this,’ you told me, in that heady August. ‘This is incredible. I feel so blessed.’ And I? I believed every word.

The time we had together seemed so precious. You’d just got out of a stifling relationship with your home where you felt trapped and cut off from the world. I’d been lonely for longer than I’d ever been. It was a match made in heaven.

That summer of 2020 it was like we rediscovered ourselves and each other. It felt so good having you inside me. You’d had your dalliances with Tuscan retreats in the past, but it felt like finally you’d grown up enough to know what you had at home.

And last year? You proved it was real by coming back to me. By showing it wasn’t a one-time thing. By returning to the shores of Cardiganshire and to my quartz-veined mudstone for a second rapturous holiday.

I know it rained. I know there were times when you didn’t want to play another board game. But didn’t I protect you? Didn’t I keep you warm, and cherished, and loved?

So when the end of July came around again, I was trembling with anticipation. To once again feel the tracks of your wheeled suitcase on my uneven floor. To have your firm, confident hand sign me right in the visitors’ book.

And where are you? The first summer travel restrictions are relaxed you’re straight on a plane to hot, exotic Zante. You unfaithful, lying arsehole.

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