Truth is, I barely slept in Malta. Not that I was some party hard holiday freak — on the contrary, I was acting my age with aplomb and simple grace in the poshy poshy hotel — but I must say that when it comes to a restful night of sleep, that our own bed cannot be beat. I had a snooze this afternoon. Bliss. Utter bliss.
The hotel? A five-star Radisson SAS. It’s an amazing place to stay and one could easily remain within the bounds of the private beach, spa, several restaurants, and triple towers without so much as a fleeting thought about exploring the rest of the island. But the beds… oh! the tragedy that is their beds.
Soft and squidgy. Unsupportive. I was up every night like it was some sort of insidious plan to get me to use my complimentary embroidered slippers at 3AM. Pace, pace, check window, dark outside, crickets – nice to hear crickets, pace, toilet, flush, crash back into bed. I couldn’t even annoy the next room over with the flushing of the toilet since the walls were so adequately thick. Nope, alone in my suffering regarding the most expensively unpleasant bed I think I’ve ever slept in (‘slept’ not being quite the right word). Neil was able to cope with a ceiling fan but I could not make friends with the bed. The ceiling fan could’ve crashed down on top of us and I would’ve been grateful for any restful unconscious time beneath its heavy motor. Why is it that the thing most crucial for a hotel to get right is the thing often most in need of improvement?
Positive holiday tales and loads of photos to come. But not tonight…
I’m mighty sleepy this evening and am going to go give my bed a hug.
It will hug back.
It’s awesome like that.