It took more than a week to show up, but the P-V Blues Train arrived today with a vengeance.
Am I really not on vacation anymore? I’m back to cooking and cleaning and going to work like I was never gone?!
Is that really all the time I got to spend with my friends? Writing about Wendy really drove home how little time I had with her. And I haven’t even told you about R and M, and their two girls yet. But I miss them desperately, too!
Two Mondays ago I woke up in Scarborough. It’s on the eastern coast of England. Yes, I think it’s the one in “Scarborough Fair.”
I woke up really cranky that day, because I didn’t ever get to sleep.
I got about four hours of sleep.
See, we stayed in a youth hostel.
You don’t have to be YOUTHFUL to stay in one.
I booked us into a family room – two bunk beds and a sink, just for us. Shower and bathroom across the hall. Perfectly clean and respectable. I thought it would help us pay for the freakishly expensive trip if we stayed in youth hostels a couple of times.
Granted, it’s been a long time since I stayed in a youth hostel, but I remember that there are rules. If you don’t shut up at “quiet time,” someone in authority comes along to tell you to shut up.
Not at the Scarborough Youth Hostel.
No, if you’re young and high-spirited and imbibing, please … come to the Scarborough Youth Hostel! Start the festivities at about 10 p.m. Continue long after the quaintly posted “quiet time” of 10:30. Scream and preen because you’re trying to impress boys/girls!
Cole fell asleep before the noise really got started. And DH was so tired from driving all day on the wrong side of the road, in the wrong side of the car, on narrow roads with people doing seventy, that he fell asleep, too. I heard him wake up around 11.
I hissed my displeasure to him … from my Top Bunk of Righteous Indignation.
I saw no point in complaining. Clearly, whoever was supposed to tell the partyers to shut up was either gone, passed out drunk, not bothered, or IN THERE PARTYING.
DH fell asleep again while I scribbled furiously in my journal.
Let’s see what I wrote:
It’s almost quiet next door. Maybe they’re pairing off now, and will have drunken sex and fall asleep. Then I can get some sleep.”
No such luck.
The volume increased again, and continued until after 1 a.m.
At that point, I don’t know if I fell asleep despite the noise, or they finally went to bed.
I was awake again before six. The alarm went off at six, and we showered, got dressed, and headed down to the dining room to wait for breakfast.
Let’s check in to my journal again:
“While I’m feeling bitter and tired, here are the things I DISLIKE about Britain:
Butter on sandwiches.
If not butter, mayonnaise on sandwiches.
Radio One. In 2007, why should I have to hear Madonna’s ‘La Isla Bonita’ twice in two days?!?! I remember that Radio One sucked twenty years ago … how do they manage to stay so consistent? Is it the same program manager?
Smoky pubs. We missed the July 1 date when they go smoke-free!
No paper seat covers in public restrooms. NOWHERE. It’s nice that they have public toilets everywhere, and they’re clean … but ewww.
The freaking exchange rate.
Separate hot and cold faucets, no matter how new the fixture. Why can’t we have WARM water, people? Why must it be scalding or freezing?”
You know the first thing I did after we left the Hostel of Horrors?
I went to the public library, got online, and found a hotel in Glasgow, so I could cancel our next youth hostel adventure. And the best part was that it was only 7 pounds more! I would have paid a lot more than that!
Our next lodging was like Paradise.
Good-night. I'm going to sleep in my quiet (note to self: is DH wearing nasal strip?), comfy bed now.