I don't know what thoughts occupy some people’s heads. Precious few in the case of the wankers staying at One World Backpackers at the end of November. Even if they didn't know the place had paper-thin walls and echoed like an underpass, there's little excuse for shouted exchanges until four in the morning. Not even on a Saturday and far less mid-week.
I endured three nights of it. The hostel had a no-money back policy and I'd paid up front. I wasn't about to complain. I've lived long enough to experience that futility. There was little the hostel could do anyway and as for tackling the perpetrators... well, even if drink hadn’t addled their senses, their obvious fuck-you attitude would have guaranteed an escalation of the problem. I had been victim of that on my departure from Edinburgh and had no wish to retry it.
I resolved to avoid hostels and pretty much kept to it. (The breakfast was shite too and they overcharged me.)
I had only lost one night’s sleep and scavenged what I could for one breakfast when I headed for the Botanic Gardens the first morning, so I wasn't feeling too shabby. The parrots of the night before were still in evidence and still naggingly familiar. I got a few field marks – surprisingly difficult for parrots – and launched into my Simpson & Day to nail an identification. ⇐ ⇒
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment