Iwent away to do a job in London last week. I quite like typing that, as it makes me feel like I have some other life going on (maybe as a spy or an assassin).
Not that I’d want to be an assassin of course, but there’s something quite glamorous about their lifestyle in films, isn’t there?
Anyway, I wasn’t on my way to spy on anyone. I was actually visiting a school to spend a day with its able writers.
My agent set it up. That’s another sentence that I like typing – and indeed saying (though she sets me up in schools, not with appearances in glamorous locations).
This job involved being in situ very early in the morning, so I decided to spend the night before in London and zoomed around the internet looking for a bargain late room.
I found a B&B to help the ‘little man’ and put some money in someone else’s pocket rather than pay big cash to a national chain.
The site that I used to find my accommodation wasn’t one of the main ones that advertise on the telly.
So it was only after I’d paid my money (choosing not to pay a extra £5 so that I could change my booking) that the site told me my room came with a shared bathroom.
The last time I shared facilities (apart from when camping, where I kind of expect to pick someone else’s grass out from between my toes when in the shower) was 20 years ago in France.
So here’s what I’ve now learned about that room booking site and sharing.
If it doesn’t say en-suite up front, assume it isn’t en-suite.
If you do happen to get caught out in a similar vein using communal facilities, wear a dressing gown so that you don’t frighten the 10 scaffolders who are also likely to be – and in my case were – queuing first thing in the morning to go about their business.
An acquaintance in construction tells me that scaffolders are at the lowest end of the building trade.
But they have my vote to climb the social ladder as they chivalrously adopted a ladies-first policy.
It must have been the assassin-like glint in my eye.