Posts Tagged ‘sleep’
Weekend was so-so healthy living wise. Went to bikram yoga (Friday) and swimming (Saturday). Did drink a couple of beers at the Coldplay concert but managed to refrain from smoking, even though it was *really* tempting.
Now that my flat has emptied out from being a hippie commune* I am very grateful to have my bed back. Even though I have been sleeping a lot better since I started yoga and stopped smoking, the couch in my lounge is far from comfortable.
Yoga today again, where Brian suggested I participate in the 30 day challenge, which starts April 1. The crazy thing is, instead of thinking that Brian is crazy, I am seriously considering the idea, although Cyprus does get in the way somewhat.
*A sad goodbye to Shennie Pie and Mister Moose, but a happy hello to their “replacements”, who will be named when I think up suitably cool monikers for them.
I managed to get barely an hour´s sleep, only to be woken by Kate´s panicked voice: “Trinks, you´ve pressed snooze twice already. Your bus leaves in half an hour. You need to get up!”
I staggered out of bed. I really needed a shower. I also needed to finish packing. Admittedly, I had half-packed the day before, which, at the time, I thought was a supremely cunning plan. Alas, it turned out to be only 50 per cent of a cunning plan.
I stumbled round the room, randomly chucking items in my suitcase. One of these items was my new laptop. Somehow it didn´t occur to me that a) there are computers in the UK, and b) their plugs are different. As well as the laptop and attendant paraphenalia, I blithely packed my camera charger, my phone charger, and my iPod charger. Overall, I must have lugged at least 5kg of incompatible technological equipment across the sea for no good reason.
And this was before I even began on the clothes. I was at a loss without Moral Squeeze to restrain me, and packing, as you may have guessed, has never been my forte.
“Should I take the long black dress or the little black dress?” I asked Kate indecisively. She patiently advised the latter, while I stumbled around some more. “Where is my eyeliner? I simply cannot go to London without my eyeliner,” I declared. (Nevermind the fact I rarely use eyeliner, since I am unable to apply it without looking like some kind of racoon, despite having previously worked at a fashion and beauty magazine).
“Trinks, I think you are still drunk. And in the throws of an extended Bridget Jones moment!” said Kate, barely surpressing her laughter. “I don´t want to be Bridget!” I wailed, conveniently forgetting that some years ago I had attended a fancy-dress party (theme: the fictional character you most resemble) as none other than Ms Jones. Call it part of my mispent youth.
Back to the dilemma of the moment. “I don´t want to be Bridget!” I wailed. “I am a strong independent women. Without issues. And with sexy underwear. Not at all like Bridget!” I sounded pathetic, and strangely unconvincing, even to myself. But, despite histrionics, we were in fact (almost) ready to hit the road. I grabbed a bottle of chardonnay and my Silk Cuts and we made a dash the bus stop.
My day didn´t get better. Without Kate around to jolly me out of my hangover, I was stuck in travelling hell. In brief, my itinerary looked like this:
1. Bus from Vaduz to Sargans
2. Train from Sargans to Basel
3. Bus from Basel to EuroAirport*
4. Flight from EuroAirport to London Luton**
5. Bus from Luton to Victoria***
6. Train from Victoria to New Malden
7. Walk from New Malden station to Elm Road
8. Collapse into bed****
* The EuroAirport is cool. One airport, three countries. Believe it, because it´s true! I also ate some very expensive food there, which made me feel slightly more human (although still primarily alien).
** Note to self, and other travellers. It is a much more pleasant experience getting felt up by svelte Swiss security staff than their British counterparts.
*** There is a reason that flights to Luton are cheap. Because it isn´t even in the middle of nowhere. It´s like, far out on the edge of nowhere, when “somewhere” is on the opposing edge.
**** That would have been nice. But I had plans for the evening. Plans that had been booked and prepaid on the Interweb.
I live in Room 13 of House B (Hotel Schlössle), which means I have the good fortune of living in all-too-close proximity to “Club 14”, opened by the enterprising J&B.
Until the night of my birthday, my interactions with Club 14 management had largely consisted of me asking politely that they keep the noise down; J&B accusing me of being unfriendly for not joining in the parties; and me then pointing out that I was no longer a student, and had a class to teach in the morning.
Our conversations would always end amiably, with both parties smiling. But although I generally managed to fall asleep, the music never became any softer.
Cut to my birthday celebrations. At some point in the wee hours, Kate sensibly decided to call it a night. I say “sensibly”, because we both had to arise at some ungodly hour to catch the bus (me to Sargans, her to Feldkirch). Alas, all sense had deserted me…
For some reason I cannot recall, I decided this would be the perfect opportunity to make my virgin Club 14 appearance. J&B were characteristically generous of spirit, and I ended up chilling with the regular Club 14 boys until such a late (or rather early) hour, that there seemed little point in sleeping at all. I was to regret this during my arduous travels “tomorrow”.
When you can’t communicate with language, food is a good substitute.
So I cooked dinner for the students, and Chileans, Georgians, Germans, Hungarians, Latvians, Turks – even a Liechtensteiner! – were united in their appreciation of RK’s chicken curry.
“Your cooking tastes very good!” they chorused. Even without turmeric or curry leaves – shopping for spices in Vaduz can be challenging – I had to admit: it didn’t taste bad.
“Danke für die Blumen,” I said, proud of both my cooking ability, and beginner German.
Then we all drank Russian vodka, and sang karaoke. I thought it was the Japanese who were obsessed with karaoke, but the eastern Europeans could give them a run for their money. The vodka quelled my reservations, and I tunelessly sang along to the Beatles, before tumbling into bed…