The Hostel

OK, first post done so now what?

Well, I’m sitting in my dingy little room in a hostel for addicts and the homeless. The room, smaller than a police cell, has grimy green walls and the once white woodwork has been shaded to a dull, yellowy brown by the heavy smoking of previous tenants. For some reason there are blobs of blue emulsion dabbed over the green where repairs have been made; must have run out of green paint.

Against one wall is my bed. Well, I like to call it a bed. I think it’s actually a sleep deprivation tool from Guantanamo Bay kindly donated by the US Army. The springs in the mattress are cunningly designed to pop up in the middle of the night and impale themselves in the small of your back. The contraption has probably been outlawed now along with water-boarding.

Against the opposite wall is a sturdy desk next to which is a fridge-freezer containing my meagre supplies. Cooking, which for me is bunging an Iceland £1 ready meal into the microwave, is done in a kitchen shared with four other tenants and naturally there are shared toilet and shower facilities as well.

                Not exactly the Landmark Hotel in London, my children’s favourite hotel when I had money, but it is ideal for now. It’s a safe place with staff on call twenty four hours a day, should I feel the urge to drink, or just someone to talk to. I also have a great incentive not to drink as if I come back pissed as the preverbal fart the staff will breathalyse me. If I am over the UK drink drive limit I can be excluded until I sober up or, if it were to happen too often, I could be evicted.

                It’s surprising how well we humans can adapt.