75 Miles Out (Part 1)

I was psyched and ready to go for an adventure. Like desperately. Being surrounded by the presence of crazy people and the monotony of working in an office, sans possible joys like David Brent or a water cooler, is enough to make anybody need a break. I’d booked some time off and some train tickets for my adventure.

My friend had previously said all was good for me to visit her and her son in Bristol.  They were house sitting. We made quite a nice team, she was humble, down-to-earth and nice. Her son was adorable, crazy but amazing. When you could get him away from his iPad.

He got on really well with me. We played with lego. He jumped around. He had more energy than Battersea Power Station.

I saw him as a son figure.

Our last meeting involved reading Matilda, destroying Lego towers, hide and seek, dancing to Adamski (see the 1990’s) and pillow fights. I was still recovering from one being clumped around my head.

I was really looking forward to seeing them, then boom, 20 hours beforehand she said “Listen… the housemate has a problem with you staying, maybe don’t come.”

I almost wanted to catapult my Mac out the window. Most people have almost done that after seeing the spinning loading rainbow wheel. But no. I had some sense. After spending money so far, I knew I would wallow in self pity if I didn’t go, especially with 3 days off. I tried to salvage information but all I got was “the housemate doesn’t want visitors but isn’t actually saying it.”

My friend, despite me saying I’d still go up and hopefully see her, said it was a good idea to stay at a hostel and she’d be happy to still meet up with me. It seemed a bit odd she wasn’t apologetic but maybe she felt bad?

So I sent forth anyway, booking myself into a hostel. My mother made me worried about taking anything with me, in case it got stolen by some hostel villains.

The train journey was fairly ok. I went through a vast amount of paperwork that had been flying around my room for years, embarrassingly shoved into various cupboards when people came over. Highlights included “how to instigate a threesome.”

When and why did I print this off? I may or not have perused it once again but triggered at what my 19-year-old self used to read.

Upon arrival, I did my usual reading the map completely wrong technique, and was about to trundle off in the wrong direction, when a nice blonde saw me standing around gormlessly with a scrunched up paper map in hand. She pointed me in the right direction. I was so astounded by her friendliness that I didn’t actually listen properly.
I got to a beautiful river and gasped in astonishment at how pretty it was. There was a restaurant on a boat, and the water shimmered and sparkled in the moonlight. I then saw a blue sparkly light in the distance, the opposite direction from the hostel and went across the cobbled steps and stumbled into the square.

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I was the epitome of the kid in the sweet store, stumbling around in a circle at the out of order water fountains, harbor and neon signs.
I arrived at the Rock and Bowl hostel after using my tepid mobile data to direct me there. It was amazing.. massive rooms, a bar, a bowling alley. I was given a white card to get into the room, which was the same either side, cue lots of excessive swiping. The mentioned lockers didn’t exist. So I may get my spare underpants stolen, which would be a damn shame in the morning.

I ventured forth and rustled up a Rustler’s burger with apple and grape snackpack for dinner. This is my traveler cuisine. I haven’t braved cooking in the kitchen yet. As I returned to the Bowl, the heavens opened and I danced across the cobbles and under shop canopy’s to keep dry.

The sofa area was piled with foreign youngsters with milk and beer being consumed (although not together, but hey could be the latest Spanish delicacy?)

The WiFi only let me use Facebook, which doesn’t exactly quench my addiction  of pointless scrolling down and down

The next day I got a message that destroyed me in a single moment…


https://brokenrebellion.wordpress.com/

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