Showering at a hostel
One weekend not so very long ago I was out the Thursday night to celebrate my birthday. I got home at about three in the morning and had to leave at seven thirty to catch a bus to Edinburgh for a MUN conference as the Russian delegation (furry hats, military overcoats and red ties).

This dilatory preamble means nothing I hear you say. Well it does so stick with it.

I woke up at seven fifteen and realised that I had forgotten to pack my clothes so I liberally chucked the nearest clothes and toiletries that I could find into a small rucksack before running out to catch my bus whilst attempting to eat two bananas at the same time.

After a long and uneventful trip we arrived at the conference and I realised that wearing a winter overcoat, furry hat and three-piece suit whilst debating makes a man sweat quite profusely. Fortunately, I did not stink but did require a shower the next morning.

In my rush to pack I had forgotten my towel. I screamed with a primeval rage squeezed from the very depths of my soul and stomach, bare-chested and brandishing clean underwear and a shampoo bottle with my hands, at the sheer idiocy of the hoopy frood that I wasn't. I had a brainstorm though.

I grabbed a large handful of those crappy single-sheaf toilet papers that you get in hostels and decided to use this to dry me. Unfortunately, the towels disintegrated into my damp hair and stuck to my skin, daring me to try and brush them off so that they could disintegrate into a million, tiny, bobbly pieces that could only be removed by another shower. So I then wore a pair of socks like gloves and used them to dry myself before putting them on my feet.

I then left the shower cubicle behind, looking like cotton had been exploded across it, with a cellulose clump stuck in the plug. My friend wasn't very happy when he had a shower after me.
(John_Anon_Prince I have no heart and soul, Mon 26 Mar 2007, 17:46, Reply)