Good times, bad times

I'm pretty sure this is the guy I'm sharing my room with.

WELL ya win some, ya lose some. And right now it feels like I’m losing some. Sorry it’s taken me a while to update the site, I’ve been chilling in London the past six days and doing the usual catch-up rounds of expat mates that are currently calling the grey metropolis home (I’ll write more about this soon). Last night I thought it would be a good idea to take a break from big-city life and get to the coast to tick off another country to get a surf in, so I booked a bus ticket to Newquay on the Cornwall coast (some seven hours away by coach). I arrived a couple hours ago to find the hostel reception closed, meaning I couldn’t check in for a couple hours. So I went to a fish and chip shop and chowed down one of the worst vegie burgers I’ve had the pleasure of ingesting (no ingredients or condiments save for the dry pattie and some flaccid lettuce) while I watched some surfers grovel in some super-cold looking 2ft mush-burgers. Once back at the hostel I tried to relax and read a surf mag but got hounded by a paralytic 61-year-old English dude (what him and his two other decrepit mates are doing at a youth hostel I’m not sure) who delighted in engaging me in conversation about the merits of the Walkman, and how it’s a damn shame they don’t make cassettes anymore. When I was finally able to check into my room I turned the light on to reveal some acid-freak “meditating” on the floor with heavy-metal blaring from his headphones (it’s just us two in the four-person dorm). He’s here permanently he reckons, which would explain the filthy garments strewn about the room. I’m seriously scared to touch anything. Later I heard him trying to show his poetry to another unsuspecting hostel guest (I think I even heard him use the word transcendent to describe his body of work, which I’m sure is just awesome). Now I’m up in my room while my ears bleed to the seriously loud Frank Zappa cranking downstairs, Googling whether I can change my return ticket to London for immediately after my surf tomorrow instead of spending tomorrow night here too like I originally planned. Aah the glamorous world of travel. But at least it’s allowed me to bang on the keys for the first time in a while. I should be able to nut out a couple more posts tonight so stay tuned for those and more over the next few days sports fans.


Filed under Travel

4 responses to “Good times, bad times

  1. You never know what you’re going to get in a hostel… trippers, really bad b.o., noise, etc. It always makes for a “good” memory though.

  2. Lol! Classic… Lifestyles of the weird and wonderful from the darkest depths of dorm-land…

    • Ha yeah, I think he’s also an insomniac also. He came into the room at like 3 in the morning, woke me up by turning on the light and the next three hours he spent rolling around, sighing really loud, and occasionally sparking up a doobie. Frothing I could change my bus ticket!

  3. Pingback: Wall of Corn | fearinenglish

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