Life in The Clink (a first-time hostel experience)

When all is said and done, at least I had a nice night out. The part before that was uneventful, and the part following was, to put it lightly, annoying.

At the beginning of the day, I packed up my things in the guest room and Gill drove me to the Harpenden station and saw me off. I pre-paid at “The Clink” hostel, lunched and browsed the internet for a few hours at the British Library, and went back to check-in. They gave me a sheet (but no towel), told me about the free breakfast, and instructed me to check out by 10 the following morning. I’d made some plans with Katie to meet her and several other people at a pub in Shoreditch, but I still had a couple hours before that, so I took the time to explore St. Paul’s and the surrounding area (I’m sad to report that the pigeon lady of Mary Poppins is no more).

I won’t bore you with dialogues, but I had a great time at the pub with everyone. Katie, Matthew (Katie’s boyfriend), Nicole, Andrew, Keith, Keith’s girlfriend (I can’t remember her name), and Jackie were there. I had a pint of apple cider (not the Martinelli’s kind), meanwhile thinking it would be a really good idea to have some dinner, so it was little surprise that I was all gung ho about Jackie’s idea to go to a “Tennessee-style” chicken place up the street. Bad idea. I ordered 3 pieces of chicken, coleslaw, and an apple pie, which under normal circumstances (i.e., KFC or Popeye’s) would make me feel a bit guilty perhaps, but not so bad overall. The chicken was very greasy and the skin was baggy; the coleslaw had too much mayo & vinegar; and the apple pie was dry and tended to stick to the insides of the box, making it difficult and messy to eat. On the positive side, I got to see Andrew’s place; Nicole, Jackie and I accompanied him to his flat to eat. As far as inexpensive London flats go, it wasn’t bad; it was clean, and the location was convenient.

Back at the hostel, I gulped down a huge glass of ice water at the bar to make the greasy chicken feeling go away. When Nicole and I went to our separate rooms, it wasn’t long before the other 7 people living in my room showed up, and I suddenly had a much greater appreciation for my previous situation. Much greater. I don’t know how I can emphasize it enough. They all crashed into the room at about 2 AM, laughing loudly and speaking French; only one of them attempted a half-hearted excusez moi. They must have all thought I had a stick up my arse because they thought it terribly funny to talk about me (I’m not fluent in French, but I knew enough in the circumstances); the one bunked over me jostled the bed to excess and even tried to drop a huge wad of spit on my head when I was using the reading light at the end of the bed (the words tête and “spit” caused a lot of laughter in their conversation just then), the dried, foamy remains of which were still there in the morning. (I wonder, what’s the French word for “assholes”?)

The breakfast this morning wasn’t impressive… There was nothing but toast and cereal; to drink, there was tea, cocoa, and instant coffee. £18 per night well spent, right? Well under the present circumstances, even that would be just fine. I was only able to book for the one night, and now I can’t find a single hostel with a free bed for tonight. I’ve been frantically searching the internet for options, but the best I could find so far is located far away, and more expensive. Or, MUCH more expensive, and fairly central. It’s easy to get a little panicky at this point.