For my 21st birthday (beginning of November) I went to London for the weekend. The next few posts will be about my trip. It’s a bit late but I’ve been living under university work for the past couple of weeks (not literally… except the night I fell asleep with my laptop on me.. okay sometimes literally).
This post is a very exaggerated version of the last evening of mine and my boyfriend’s (Luke’s) weekend away in London. Hope you all enjoy!
On the last night of mine and Luke’s trip to London something strange happened. After a long day of shopping and visiting the zoo we came back to our hotel for an evening of relaxation and crying over how much money we’d spent. We were all ready to sit down and let the tears to stream over our cheeks and fall into the reams of receipt paper. But that wasn’t about to happen straight away. As soon as I entered our hotel room I knew something was wrong. The room was not the way we had left it. Someone had been in.
‘Luke, did you move my bags from there to there,’ I said pointing to the 3 inches of space that my bags seemed to have danced over.
He shook his head.
I instantly started imagining strange ghostly creatures drifting out of the wardrobe and into the room, rubbing their filthy ghost hands all over my new Naruto T-shirts, infecting my new wallet with their invisible dirty fingertips. Our hotel room had been transformed from a lovely place of warmth and safety into a dingy dungeon out of a horror film, where we were the victims. The victims of the horrific crime of unwanted bag movement. I was ready to pack my tampered-with bags and leave at that moment. That’s when I noticed something else. Another change that had happened during our absence. The bed had been made. To an impeccably high standard. And Luke and me are not the King and Queen of bed making. In fact I’m more like a lazy homeless man in relation to my bed-making skills.
The facts all came together at this point. It was not ghosts that had invaded our room and shifted our belongings about. Even I knew that ghosts were not sufficiently equipped to make a bed to that standard. No, ghosts didn’t invade our room. Housekeeping did. And I was just as unhappy about that.
I couldn’t believe that some people had been in and moved our belongings around. I couldn’t believe that they’d ruined my tribute to Tracy Emin’s messy bed art exhibit. And mostly I couldn’t believe that strangers touching your personal belongings is considered a service in hotels.
Throughout the next hour I started noticing more changes from the morning, and paced up and down ranting to Luke accordingly.
‘My hair’s gone from the plughole in the shower! My ginger hairs, they took my beautiful ginger hairs that grew right out of my own head. How could they do this?’
‘OMG they’ve moved my hair bobble from the floor to the shelf. To the shelf! What if my poor hair bobble was afraid of heights? It’s disgusting that’s what it is!’
‘The tissue, that piece of tissue I used to clean my eye make-up and left on the side. They’ve thrown it away like it’s some sort of used tissue. How dare they!’
During this, Luke kept insisting that it wasn’t a big deal, so after a while I regained calm and went back to weeping over how much money I’d spent throughout the day, and how few tigers we’d seen. About half an hour later though, just before we were about to set off for our evening meal, I noticed another change in our hotel room. On the small bookcase unit at the side of the bed a small carry-case had appeared and was sitting there growling at me with it’s sharp zip teeth bared.
‘Luke, is this yours?’ I asked pointing to the evil carry-case creature that lurked beneath the bedside drawer. I cowered slightly away from it to indicate my fear, in the hope that Luke would rescue me if it attempted to attack.
‘No,’ he said shrugging, clearly unfazed by it’s fearsome toothy grin.
‘Well it’s not mine.’
‘So? Maybe someone just left it here.’
‘Won’t you have a look what it is? Please, for me?’ I asked, not wanting to handle the sinister creature in case it turned out to be something horrifying.
As my boyfriend is very nice, and also cannot cope with my moaning, he picked up the strange carry case and unzipped it. My heart pounded as he pulled the cover off.
Inside was an array of mysterious medication. Well, a bottle of pills, a glucose checker and a needle-pen-thing (I lack the necessary medical terminology to complete this post to an intelligent standard). Hardly a case for Scooby Doo and the gang.
There were a few reactions I could have had to this situation. I could have
A. Been unfazed by the appearance of this medication and left it in the room.
B. Been unfazed but helpful, rushing down to reception in the hope of reuniting it with its owner.
C. Saw this addition to the room as an opportunity for free pills and laid on the bed getting high like a carefree drug addict.
D. Paced around the room like an utter lunatic, panicking that someone left a sharp object in the room and considering sleeping on the streets of London instead of the “dangerous” hotel room.
Unfortunately for my ‘B’ reaction boyfriend I decided to go with D. And it was not a silently panicking ‘D’ either – Luke was lucky enough to hear a full-length dramatic rant about the dangers present in our hotel room. Just imagine a Shakespearean soliloquy about the possibility of finding a corpse that housekeeping left behind. In contrast to expectations Luke did not play the part of the upper class Shakespearean citizens by applauding my speech and comforting me, but instead took on the role of the poor theatre-goers and pelted me with tomatoes. Well, he did the modern day equivalent and told me to ‘shut up’ and come to reception with him. It was certainly in the genre of tragedy.
After handing the medication in to reception we set off to Nandos for a nice evening meal. But I was too anxious from the magical appearance of unusual objects to care about spicy rice and garlic bread.
The meal did not calm my nerves. I proceeded to talk about the mysterious package we had found, worrying what other objects would appear throughout the night.
‘Free needle with every hotel room!’ I joked as Luke shook his head disapprovingly.
‘The non-prescription medical equipment is complimentary!’ I said through a mouthful of rice.
‘Can’t wait to go back to the crack den!’ I exclaimed as we walked back to the hotel.
At this comment Luke had had enough.
‘Amy, it was an insulin pen there were no needles on show. Now shut up before I throw you in the Thames!’ he replied. In reality, he never threatened to throw me in the Thames, or any river for that matter, but what story is exciting where the boyfriend doesn’t threaten to drown the girl for making jokes about glucose testing kits? Exactly.
We got back to the hotel, and I spent the evening trying not to vocalize my worry over what else might appear in our room, just so I could avoid any Thames-related incidents. And because I’d run out of needle-related hotel humour. We went to sleep without any more talk of housekeeping. And I didn’t wake up drowning in the Thames whilst Luke cackled hysterically.
As for the hotel room nothing else appeared. But next time I stay in a hotel I will be sure to use the ‘do not disturb’ sign to avoid housekeeping. If only to make sure no one leaves anything scary in my hotel room. Like a spider. Or a Justin Bieber CD.