Waves of indifference radiated from her every fibre as I pointed out my difficulty.
From some unspecified overseas location, she had the air of one who had been promised an interesting and lucrative job in the sex industry only to find herself being forcibly trafficked into the provincial hotel reception business.
"It doesn't lock, you see. It does look to me that somebody has kicked it down recently and it hasn't been mended. In fact the whole door frame is hanging off."
"I'll get someone to look at it," she said, in a tone that made me want to sprint off down to William Hill and put a tenner on the 'David Cameron/Nobody will look at our hotel room door' accumulator.
We pulled the door as shut as we could, consumed our hotel breakfast, and made our way into the beautiful market town of Ludlow.
Ludlow is a very notable place, most famous for being the headquarters of 'Crash' computer magazine in the 1980s. We explored the castle and shops, mainly the food shops, until sudden and unexpected explosive diarrhoea forced a curtailment.
It would have been nice to have spent an extra day exploring, but I'd forgotten to book the hotel for the third night. Still, this allowed the Pneumatic Drill man to continue digging up the concrete outside our bedroom window in peace.
We returned home, refreshed after our small break in the country.