I hate sticky tables

Owner Conny Brock was inspired by visits to Hay-on-Wye where she’d met Richard Booth (1938-2019), ‘the king of Hay-on-Wye’. Her hotel policy was ‘bring two books; take one’ – resolutely being followed by a man with a ponytail who brought a bagful and started rummaging through boxes. Conny has a loyal clientele, allowing regulars to read in her own Private Collection room. Other rooms celebrate Alice in Wonderland and Treasure Island.

By the barn housing 250,000 books – and, now, the man with the ponytail, combing the stacks – there was a graffitiscrawled train carriage from Berlin. It was a present from a guest, being transformed into the ‘gateway to Land of Oz’ by a working party of the regulars.

Oddly, the one thing missing was children. They’re not encouraged: ‘This is a place a place of respite and refuge,’ I was told.

We also visited the delightful Literaturhotel Franzosenhohl, set in

Gladstone, the Grand Old Man of books: Gladstone’s Library in Hawarden woodland outside Iserlohn in the Ruhr. Here the books were new, recently published and laid out on racks along the light-filled hall. Reading was part of the hotel’s ‘wellness’ programme.

Home again, we felt deprived. Then we discovered Gladstone’s Library. Four-times Prime Minister William Gladstone, conscious of ‘readers who have no books and books who have no readers’, determined to open a library in his village, with a hostel for visitors. In his 80s, he trundled wheelbarrows of his books from Hawarden Castle. His largest bequest, for the library, was an astonishing £40,000.

In 1906, eight years after his death, the current building opened, with a library at one end, bedrooms (no televisions – just Roberts radios) at the other. Residents can stay in the library until 10pm.

This would do! In 2019, we went three times. This autumn, we’ll be back.

Hilary Macaskill

Raise a glass to non-stick bar tables

There is nothing worse than sitting at a table in a pub or restaurant and finding one’s hands or arms sticking to the table surface.

Waiting staff have always been helpful in wiping tables between guests, but the development of spray bottles of cleaning fluid has led to an accumulation of gunge on the surface.

Long gone is the day when waitresses used a scrubbing brush with soap and water to leave a clean wooden surface. Pubs and restaurants increasingly have tables that are varnished or have plastic surfaces. The varnish or paint gradually softens. Along comes the next customer: not only do their fingers stick to the table top, but so too do any papers belonging to the unsuspecting individual.

Cleaning of tables has become even more of a ritual with the implementation of strict hygiene associated with COVID-19 rules. More and more bottles of spray fluid are being used in all businesses coming into contact with the public.

What has happened to good old warm water, soap and a scrubbing brush?

There is nothing more welcoming in a pub or café than a bleached wooden table that has been scrubbed clean. The surface is smooth to the touch. Hands and clothes slide cleanly across the surface. It is possible to place a newspaper beside you without the back page’s sticking to the table top. The sleeves of your jacket don’t require to be freed every time you try to raise your glass.

The owner of the hostelry gains as

French lesson: a spotless surface in The Bar by Toulouse-Lautrec

well. No more spray bottles to buy, just water from the tap, a bar of soap and a scrubbing brush with a bit of elbow grease. The restaurant looks brighter without the table top engrained with yesterday’s beer slops. The natural wood surface displays the cutlery and table decoration to great effect.

Ban the spray bottle and bring back sensible practicalities!

Charles Stewart