Always Read the Reviews!

I do love a bargain.

In fact, if a bargain makes a trip even better, then I am all for it. Well, I used to be. Nowadays, I am a little more cautious.

And the reason for that caution?

Of course, it involves the Hs.

Why does that not surprise me?

We had booked ourselves a cheeky little holiday together. The kind of trip that would either strengthen our friendships forever or see us all blocking each other’s numbers by the flight home.

Because we had a ridiculously early flight, we decided to treat ourselves and stay at the airport hotel the night before. The deal included two hours’ access to the executive lounge, complete with complimentary drinks and snacks.

Perfect.

The Hs do not actually live that far from the airport, but thanks to a motorway closure, our journey took about an hour longer than it should have. Well, when I say “our” journey, I actually mean Master Linda and Debs drove us. The poor bloke had to drive us all there and then drive all the way home again afterwards.

When we arrived, the Hs already had a slight head start on the drinking.

By “slight”, I mean they were a few drinks in.

Naturally, we joined them.

A couple more in the bar led to checking into our rooms, which somehow led to a couple more there too, before we eventually made our way down to the lounge.

Now this was our kind of place.

Table service.

Free drinks.

Free snacks.

I think we had been seated for approximately seven seconds before someone had ordered a round.

“Keep the drinks coming!”

“And bring more snacks!”

The conversation flowed, the laughter got louder, and the holiday spirit kicked in.

Then Mr H went into full Mr H mode.

Every time someone entered the lounge, he absolutely had to know where they were going.

Not quietly, either.

This was not a casual conversation.

It was an interrogation.

“So where are you off to?”

“Mexico.”

“Oh lovely! Have you met the couple going to Paris?”

Before long, he had appointed himself unofficial host of the lounge.

“Mr and Mrs Paris, meet Mr and Mrs Mexico!”

“Mr and Mrs Tenerife, have you seen who’s just walked in?”

Honestly, it was like he was performing his own one-man show.

Most people found him hilarious.

Some looked slightly alarmed.

Then they arrived.

A slightly different couple.

Not dressed like holidaymakers. A little older than everyone else. A little quirkier. They were not giving off beach holiday vibes at all.

Naturally, Mr H pounced.

“So where are you flying to?”

The answer caught everyone off guard.

“Work.”

Not a country.

Not a city.

Just work.

The couple seemed fascinated by our table. As the drinks continued to flow and the laughter became progressively louder, they paid closer and closer attention.

At some point, and I cannot remember who said it first, somebody suddenly blurted out:

“Just to be clear… we’re not swingers.”

Now, in the context of the evening, it made sense.

Mr H had spent the last hour randomly introducing strangers to one another and collecting holiday details like some kind of social researcher.

But from the outside?

Well…

Maybe it did not look quite so innocent.

The phrase somehow caught on.

“We’re not swingers.”

“He just likes talking to people.”

“Honestly, we’re not swingers.”

Soon most of us had said it at least once.

Which, in hindsight, probably was not helping.

The quirky couple continued watching us with increasing interest.

Then Mr H and Debs disappeared to the toilet.

The moment they left, one member of the couple made their move.

They approached Mrs H and me.

“So…” they began.

My heart immediately sank.

“You’re not swingers then?”

Oh, my days.

“No! Absolutely not!”

I could not have been clearer if I had produced a signed affidavit.

When Mr H and Debs returned, we immediately told them what had happened.

This was a mistake.

The story did not reduce the awkwardness.

It amplified it.

The couple clearly remained unconvinced and seemed determined not to miss a potential opportunity if one presented itself.

The more we denied it, the guiltier we probably looked.

Eventually Mr H decided to call it a night and headed off to bed.

The remaining three of us stayed until every last minute of our complimentary lounge access had expired.

I mean, we had paid for two hours of free drinks.

We were getting two hours of free drinks.

Then, in a decision that surprised absolutely nobody, we continued drinking back in the rooms.

Well, it was technically the first night of the holiday.

The next morning, Mr H was blissfully unaware of the attention his performance had attracted.

While the rest of us had spent the evening inadvertently fighting rumours of an airport-lounge swinging convention, he had simply been enjoying himself, living in the moment and chatting to complete strangers.

As far as he was concerned, it had been a perfectly normal evening.

Which, to be fair, it probably was.

For him.

As for me, I have learned an important lesson.

The next time I find an unbelievable bargain that includes a hotel lounge, free drinks, and complimentary snacks, I will be reading every single review beforehand.

You never know.

There may already be one online about a loud group of holidaymakers and the mysterious swinging club they definitely, absolutely, categorically were not running.

At least I hope there is not.