Hostelling the hard way

Urk. I really, really, really should have booked my accommodation before I arrived. Really. I wound up walking around London with my 20kg pack for about six hours last night. I also paid more for a sandwich than I'm used to spending on a nice café meal back home. By the time I managed to find a hostel that wasn't booked full, I was about ready to collapse. Even that didn't turn out to be so easy.

The night staff on at the YHA Hollands Head were... inexperienced. After dicking around for what seemed like half an hour, they issued me with a keycard and told me to take Bed 1 in Room 13. The guy that was already in Bed 1 didn't think that was a fantastic idea, and I don't think the other person in Room 13 thought much of being disturbed by some random New Zealander either.

After being issued with a new room (and hearing stories about how it was all the day staff's fault for not keeping proper records) I woke up an entire dorm of young women. Again no bed, but I don't think that was the major concern on their minds.

By this stage I was seriously considering taking a lesson from my Tokyo friends and passing out on a park bench. Luckily, though, the cripple I was with noticed that reception seemed to be reading the booking sheet incorrectly. A bit of arguing resulted in a spare bed each, and I got to sleep about 1 am—9 hours since arriving in London, and over 27 hours since waking up in Tokyo that morning. Suprisingly, lack of sleep and food did not seem to cause many difficulties.

They didn't give me my breakfast token, either.