Sometimes in life we fall privy to a snippet of information that can leave us bemused, perplexed or downright irritated! In my case all three applied until very recently when I managed to break through the irksome knowledge and find an answer!
Two years ago, I was on a road trip down to Cornwall visiting St Ives, Penzance, Land’s End and St Michael’s Mount. The weather was dreadful, nothing but rain and fog followed by long gloomy nights sitting in a B&B bar. After four days, I’d had enough and decided to head home. As I did so the rain stopped, the sun sparkled back into life and everyone began to dry out. It was then I decided to visit Glastonbury, the great emerald city in the south west of England. Having never been before and with it being a popular tourist destination, I wondered if I would be able to find a place to stay. A few hours later I arrived in town and was surprised to see how small it was. I parked the car and began to stroll around. It wasn’t long before I was bumping into Shaman’s, healers, high Priestess’s and all kinds of colourful individuals. I began to feel positively embarrassed in my jeans and t-shirt. Every shop window was full of wizards and unicorns, the surging smell of incense swept through the streets and alley ways, it was Magik I suppose.

Across the road I spotted The George Hotel and Pilgrims’ Inn.

The George Hotel and Pilgrims Inn

I was lucky to get a room, someone had just cancelled. I collected my bag from the car and plonked it in room 15 on the second floor. A quirky little space that would look great in a horror movie with its dark beams and eerie pictures on the walls. As it was mid afternoon I decided to take a walk to Glastonbury Tor, the famous mound of land just outside town. An hour later I was at the top, dripping with sweat and wondering if a heart attack was imminent. The panoramic views were stunning but I mostly saw sky being flat on my back; I half went to sleep in the soft breeze. A short time later I felt some drops on my face and opened my eyes, I couldn’t believe how dark and cloudy it had suddenly become. The rain was back. I arrived at the hotel like a drowned rat. So, another long night in the bar ensued, listening to the pitter patter of the rain and thumbing through leaflets about this and that. I soon learned that ghost stories abound at the hotel, being built in the 15th century and the first public house in the south west. As I went up the crooked winding steps to my room, one didn’t need a pack of tarot cards to feel it was haunted!
Early the following morning I was packed and ready to leave. It was still raining. All I needed was a cup of coffee but I was too early, the dining area didn’t open until seven. I sat in a chair on the corridor. A few moments later a guy appeared, he had a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. He must have noticed my hungry eyes because he smiled and said, “Would you like one?”
“Are you sure” I replied rather bizarrely.
“Of course I’m sure, I’m the cook!”
So we sat together drinking coffee chatting about various things, when I suddenly asked him, “Do any famous people come here?”
“Yes sometimes… Nicolas Cage comes in for a meal now and again with his kids.”
“Oh, what’s he like, did you speak to him?”
“No I’m just doing the cooking… he’s seems the quiet type… friendly though, always leaves a good tip for the waitress… the odd thing is he always orders two meals and eats a bit from each plate.”
“Really? Two main courses?”
“Two mains… yes.”
My brain popped! Why on earth would anyone do that I kept asking myself on the drive home. So for almost two years I have lived with this question and after a chance discovery of film I found the answer. Oh I hope you read this Mr. Cage, I recognised the decor in your room, it was like mine in room 15. I made some discreet enquiries and found the girl who checked you in back in ’88… she didn’t know, she was new and put you in the medieval suite by accident. It’s haunted Nic and you were unlucky. It was a weekend bewitched by a full moon and all the stars had aligned to summon the dead. On your second night the bartender spotted the plaster on your neck. He was suspicious and went to find out where you were sleeping but it was too late, when he returned you had already gone to your room. Reception kept calling but there was no answer… you are picking from two plates Mr. Cage to feed your inner mistress and satisfy her demands… she’s from the other side Mr. Cage… the other side.

2 thoughts on “Glastonbury

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