Days Like These

“Are these yours? What are they?”

I looked at what the hotel maintenance man was holding out to me just as he realised what they were.

“OH!” he exclaimed and dropped them like they’d bitten his hand,

I grabbed up the box of tampons and stuffed them into my handbag…just one more mishap to add to my long list and it was barely past noon.

The day started at 5am when I dragged myself out of bed. Matt and I had only managed 3 hours sleep since we’d been up until the wee hours trying to figure out how to make my showreel into a DVD. I knew as I was getting into the car that I was forgetting something…but I always feel like that on the way to the airport so I ignored it. That was a decision I came to regret. When I got to Heathrow and opened up my purse to pay for a drink I realised I’d forgotten all my cash cards. For a long sick moment I had visions of myself sleeping in Heathrow for the next few days: it was Sunday so I couldn’t go to my bank, I had no way of getting into London anyway so what could I do? Was I actually going to be one of those people who goes up to strangers at the airport saying they’ve lost their money and could they please have a few quid for the bus?

I went to a quiet corner to sit down and think. Did I know anyone who could come and bail me out…yes, I have a few friends who live in Surrey who would be happy to come to my rescue but how embarrassing! Was there any way Matt could get some money to me…not on a Sunday. In desperation, though I knew that my cards were not there, I turned out all my pockets, emptied my bag and opened up my suitcase. Tucked into the back of my wallet I found an old Allied Irish Bank cash card so I went on the hunt for a cash machine. The first one I tried spat the card back…DENIED. Makes sense, I thought, there’s no money in that account. Then I saw another machine for another bank and figured I’d give it another go. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when the machine started whirring away, counting out some money. I don’t know how there was anything on that card but I wasn’t about to question it.

I had withdrawn £30 which was enough to pay for my journey into the city. As I sat on the train I thought about how in a place like London you’re just a couple of small mistakes away from sleeping rough.

After that scare I almost didn’t mind getting caught in the rain on the way to my hotel from Waterloo, even when I had to wade through an ankle-deep puddle, hefting my suitcase above the water. Although when I got to the hotel and realised I’d have to traverse the puddle again because the hotel wanted payment up front and the nearest cash machine was…yes…back in Waterloo Station, I was starting to feel a little bit giddy. Still, at least I’d have a room and, even more wonderful, a hot shower at the end of it all.

So, why was there a maintenance man standing in my room with a beet red face stammering about feminine products? Well, because just as I had finally unpacked my suitcase and was getting ready for that long-awaited shower, the heavens over London opened and so did the ceiling in my hotel room. A rush of water came pouring through a long crack in the plaster and soaked my bed.

If I was a suspicious person I’d be starting to wonder if someone was trying to tell me something.