Brighton hostel aka getting old

The moment we walked into the room, we heard a guy on the phone who started with the immortal opening line: “Hi it’s Steve, we met in the bar the other night” [ insert here what I imagine confused answer, then he goes] “Oh hang on…No that’s right, you are the other girl.” Nice Steve.

In any case Steve invited us to a house-party of the girl he couldn’t remember, trying to entice us with the promise: There will be loads of drugs! To which my brilliant neighbour answers: Er it sounds like a private affair, we wouldn’t want to impose.

Steve’s brother was also in the room, he was a tree surgeon. They had been living in their car for a week because they didn’t have any money and couldn’t find a job. He was also dairy intolerant and really that was the reason why his skin was so bad. He bought coconut milk though as a substitute. That didn’t have lactose in it did it? Oh and exfoliating your face twice a day was also really annoying and irritating. Literally.

Next there was a lovely French girl who hesitated when I asked for her name: Er Amanda. Really? Well no actually it is Amandine but… For the love of God darlin Amandine, do not bastardize your gorgeous name to Amanda just to please the Anglophones.

She was cute, she went to the party. Ah well can’t save them all. Stupid o’clock Steve thunders in to announce he’s going to get his guitar and play and just think about life. Great Steve, you’re about 12 so there is still lots to think about. Thinking is also usually done without shouting.

The second time I woke up with Steve’s brother shouting (though I am sure that he thought he was whispering) I’m In Need, I’m In Need! All of a sudden awake I listened again and heard what he said: Amandine! Amandine!

Cue to two love birds making out on a bunkbed. I’m in Need indeed.

(Plus come on girl, you’re French, you’re cute and well… he’s lactose intolerant! )

Ah  young love… Young love and the sudden realisation that by epic age of 25 you’re really too old to deal with all this!

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