Hotelface

No relation to pramface, defined as a girl who wouldn't look at all out of place at 14 years of age pushing a newborn through a council estate; hotelface is the face that Wine Goose wakes up with after spending a night in one of Ireland's newly refurbished and soul-less hotels. A glance in the mirror reveals a layer of rhinoceros hide, most likely caused by leftover builders dust settling on the skin and mixing, cement-style, with the perspiration caused by a combination of the hermetically sealed double-glazed windows and the non-functioning but very noisy air-conditioning unit.

Several applications of over-priced moisturiser do little to improve the situation. Moved to consider that perhaps the grandiosely named 'snipe' of bulk-produced Australian chardonnay (the only wine accompaniment on offer to last night's chicken stir-fry) may have been a factor, Wine Goose risks appraising her fellow diners at the breakfast buffet. All are victims of hotelface; even the men have a glassy-eyed look, as if they'd forgotten to remove their mascara before retiring for the night. And several women have compounded the problem by adding make-up, the resulting look bringing Frankenstein's monster to mind.

This being the west of Ireland the commonsense solution is a brisk walk in the lashing rain and howling wind, more effective and a lot cheaper than microdermabrasion, before undergoing the process again the next night.