The Keadeen is where I first vocalised that my longest-term relationship was not going well. In the beautiful gardens, with a cappuccino and my aunt's support, it didn't seem so bad.
It's where I "supervised" my little sister's Debs. I never ended up going to my own Debs so I bought a sexy dress and brought the date I'd hoped to bring ten years previously. We took photos and drank and gazed out the enormous windows at the tall trees in the night. The only supervising we did was rating the girls' dresses as they danced with their fellas' ties loosely wrapped around them. In fact, the supervisors' table was the one with the most empty vodka bottles beneath it.
The bathrooms in the Keadeen Hotel are beautiful. I love peeing here. If Avoca and Kath Kidston were compressed into a loo area, it would look like this.
The Keadeen is where I brought the embryo of the book I was writing. I'd carry my laptop and a pot of tea to a comfy armchair in the lounge and type away happily, occasionally listening in on the conversations of the old folks or the business meetings. I've since discarded my novel like a novelty fling but my love affair with the Keadeen continues... read more