Ex-Tabula Rasa

Today is the first day of our three-day stay at a posh hotel resort on Kauai. We’re treating this as our honeymoon, our first holiday away, just the two of us, since our wedding. We checked in this afternoon.

After several hours exploring and swimming in the pools, and being IDed for booze at the many poolside bars (‘Land of the Free’ my septic arse), Mrs Fuiru and I returned to our room, where we decided to see whether the shower could comfortably hold two adults who wished to remove salt water lagoon salt from their persons. While we were in there, there was a knocking on the door. We paused. More knocking.

My initial reaction was, “Someone must be complaining about our singing.”

The knocking continued. I got out of the shower. In my panic, I didn’t think to get a towel; I knew that the wardrobe by the hotel room door had a couple of plush towelling bathrobes in it, so I made for that area.

And, of course, you know what happened next. A key turned. The door opened. And a poor hotel chambermaid in her twenties was confronted with the sight of a pasty white skinned, hairy, naked, soapy wet Englishman trying to cover up his genitals.

She closed the door, apologising. I grabbed a towel, threw myself into a bathrobe, and opened the door as if nothing had happened. She thrust a bottle of sparkling wine and two glasses into my hands, along with some vouchers for money off hotel amenities. “Courtesy of the hotel,” she said, “congratulations on your honeymoon.”

Then she added: “Normally I’d bring this into the room, but…y’know.”