The noise of the air-con is what I passed out to most nights. It sounded like a wood-chipper churning out lumps of frosty cold air. The heat never let up, constant and all-consuming. The sleep would have been fine, sleep rarely escapes me, but the mites where everywhere.
‘That’s it! I’m not staying in this room anymore! They’re fucking Everywhere! There are fifteen of them in the sink and they crawling all over Everything! We are moving!’, Boss woke me shouting this statement, while moving from room to room, swatting wildly at the furniture. That would be the second of five moves Boss and I had to make, each time to a more beastie infested room until the fifth. I still itch from the thoughts of the crawling but we did get a (third) free breakfast that we never used. Lucky us.
Every night we dined somewhere different. Cheeseburgers were the go-to food of choice, for me at least. Warm, toasted, seeded bun with liquid yellow cheese that gets poured over a flame grilled beef patty that was always cooked to perfection. Sometimes with salad and onion rings, sometimes without but always with ketchup. At least one a day. It is everything I love about America in one easily digestible lump. If there’s something more American than a cheeseburger I don’t want to know about it.
Cocktails were also a staple, a must and a starter. If I could, I would live on bourbon. It’s the sweet treacly nature of it that possess me. Smooth, soothing, healing and time-consuming. I have lost hours to it. And people. It doesn’t always agree with my body.
“listen, I had a bit of a rough night last night, the world fell out my arse. Think it was all the fruity cocktails. I’m just gonna stick tae Jack n’cokes. Safer I think?”. My declaration to the group was met with agreeably faces. No questions asked. By that point I was throwing painkillers down my throat like they were my five-a-day and at no point did I ever think to have a rest night. No way, I was on holiday.