London Calling, and Other Predictable Phrases

I’m at an internet cafe near Tottenham Court tube station…and I’m alive. Which, given what I was doing four hours ago, could be considered a success of sorts.

Four hours ago I was wandering around Stratford (the district, not the town), weighed down by my suitcase and looking for my hostel. Late last night I found a single room with an ensuite for thirty-five Canadian dollars a night (no, that’s not a misprint). But the instructions on the website were deceptively simple–so naturally, I got lost. So I dialed the number, and found it was out of service (alarm bells!). Then, when I stumbled across was I thought was the right address, no one answered when I rang the doorbell. So I wandered down the street to another internet cafe (I was in a Carribean neighbourhood, by the way), confirmed the address and went back. Once again I rang–and once again, no one answered. I tried the door: locked. I rang again; again, no answer. I was on the verge of cutting my losses and getting a room at the £70/night hotel down the street, when suddenly the door flew open. Standing inside was a metal chick with pink hair. The exchange went as follows:

Me: “Is this a hostel?”

Her: “Yeah.”

Ladies and gentlemen, the Stratford Student Hostel! My room can’t quite be described as spartan–I do have an ensuite, after all–but it’s still a fairly apt description. The shower is tiny; also, there weren’t any towels, so I dried myself off with, uh, a pair of worn boxer briefs. But the price was right–very, very right–and after three nights sleeping on HLP Paul’s concrete floor I’d have spent $35 a night for a bed in a heroin den. Which, for all I know, this could very well be.

But whatever: I’m here, and now I’m feeling restless. My first stop is the Maple Leaf Pub–partly in the utterly vain hope I’ll run into someone I recognize, but mostly because I haven’t eaten anything since consuming a chocolate bar on my way from Liverpool to London this morning. Tonight, meanwhile, I was going to see a show–but I’m knackered, and I’m starting to dream up an utterly preposterous plan for tomorrow. In fact, I think I’ll look into that right now. Drop me a line! I’m slightly homesick and especially lonesome for Bri Monster, but I’m also really excited for the next couple days. A bientot!

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One thought on “London Calling, and Other Predictable Phrases

  1. aww aren’t u sweet…and the thought of you drying off with used boxers does my heart good, you can take the boy out of the ghetto but you can’t take the ghetto out of the boy!

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