I was reminded of the hotel? by an advertisement I read whilst enjoying my regular free (and very good) coffee, biscuits and newspaper in the member's lounge at the NGV. Its a shame they don't do free lunch, I'd be there every day, which is probably why they don't do it, but I digress. Either a whim, or desperation on a weekend on which Melbourne was booked out, took us there.
It had started life as a humble motel in the days before fashion and cuisine overtook its Lygon St environment. Long ago prudence meant the property embraced two parallel street fronts. Over time and, one assumes, according to the dictates of available funds and customer demand, it had grown, both out to fill the available ground space, and up to the limits that a succession of councils would allow.
These developmental initiatives seemed to conform to no integrated plan. This meant that the building had finally become a polyglot of every budget priced building method used over its long evolution. In keeping with the randomness of each developmental block was the random nature of the decoration. This underwent immediate ,and on occasion, startling transition , from one developmental step to the next. The style changes seemed not the least embarrassed by the fact that they may be occurring mid corridor.
Each journey to a room could be taken along a different path whose choice carried the real prospect of failure. It was, is, a wonderful Heath Robinson “Travelodge” unspoiled by the interfering hand of either architect or interior designer. Its only detectable embarrassment seemed to relate to its red clinker brick frontage which stood cheek by jowl with Carlton chic. The owner's answer was a few umbrellas and tables in the small Lygon St forecourt and a barista. Of course that meant that you may have to accept a brief interruption to the check in process, and espresso steam splattered paperwork, whilst a coffee order took precedence, but..............so what? The compensation was a free coffee of your own...........Ah! coffee as religious experience. Then we, eventually, found our room.
Elvis Presley impersonators proliferate around the world, even ethnicity is no barrier. Have sequined jump suit, greased black hair or wig and a voice able to handle a deliberately flattering repertoire and the world of the great unwashed is your temporary oyster. Roy Orbison impersonators, are, for quite good reason rare.
We shared our accommodation with a gathering of Roy Orbison impersonators. The Roy impersonator is presented with two significant challenges. The first, a stunning vocal range and guitar mastery which approached genius The second a visual impediment requiring extraordinarily thick glasses.
Our “Roy” guys were big on authenticity. Wandering the multiple mazes occupied the space between lobby and room was an experience now shared with normally sighted people wearing thick glasses. They lurched from wall to wall, tripped over eccentric changes from carpet to tile and, in doing so robbed us of concentration on our own navigational challenges.
When we did finally arrived at our room, and stumbled exhausted into bed, sleep was impossible. Multiple would-be Roys spent the night attempting to match their hero's high notes, they enjoyed with varying degrees of failure. Their combined efforts had more in common with cats than high end Roy. The guitar plunking?......... not even up to a buskers license.
Occasionally a “Roy” sought solace in alcohol. On one evening the vocal cat lust and plunking, having finally been overcome from exhaustion, gave way to the silence of the night. Except for the regular chime of a mechanical bell. I ventured into the hall to find an aspiring Roy flat on his back in a lift. Head and shoulders protruding past the doors. The doors closed, bruised his shoulders, sounded their warning of failure and he snored on. There was a poetic balance which I was privileged to share and dared not disturb, I retreated to our bed.
It was a weekend of fine entertainment made more of a joy by the certain knowledge that even the vaguest complaint would be washed away with fabulous coffee.........Ah, Bliss. We've never returned, not through any thought of resentment, but, rather through fear of future disappointment after all we may have to satisfy ourselves with fake Elvis's or Beatles, not half so much fun!
Ooh !? I haven't offended anyone's musical passions have I? Of course not, your far too intelligent!
The advert? Almost forgot, it was asking me to part with a large amount of money to see a fake Roy! Why would I? I've been to fake Roy paradise.
