Shallow in Brighton

IT'S A BAD start if you can't get into your hotel room at ten to two in the afternoon because it's not yet ready sir; then you read in the brochure (presumably provided by the management to improve such unshining hours) that you've booked into the oldest‐established hospice in town and they've had over three hundred years to prepare things. And it doesn't improve your temper to see the rate per night is what you paid in full six weeks ago through the agents, appointed by the Library Association, who promised ‘up to twenty per cent reduction’. Still, I don't know how I would have found my way all those twenty‐five miles to Brighton without the little paper pack marked ‘Precision Tours—Your Travel Documents’.