...And then it got worse.

I had finished writing my blog the other day, and afterward I went back to my horrid room to hang out. I then noticed that the rubbish bin had not been emptied, and the cups for tea or coffee (there were some chipped old mugs) hadn't been cleaned. I was starting to feel more and more uncomfortable, when I went out to the loo (creaky bare boards, unsanitary) and came back to my room.

I put the key in, turned it, and pushed a bit. The same as when I came back earlier, that didn't work, so I pushed harder. It gave with a little snicking noise, which made me wonder. I closed and locked the door again, put the key away in my pocket, and pushed the door. Snick. The door opened.

What had hapened was that the hole in the wall I mentioned was down the side of the door, and this allowed the catch that the bolt went in to move, enough that the door could just be pushed open. I was about to sleep, a young woman by herself, in a room above a bar in a strange town, with no locks between myself and the street. For thirty-five pounds.

There was no other accommodation available in the whole town, so while I wasn't at all happy, I decided that I'd probably just have to stay there and hope I'd be safe. Then the music started. Loud, obnoxious, LOUD music. I cried.

I also texted Simon, who called me back and listened to me freaking out about not having a lock. As you can imagine, he wasn't very excited about the idea. He didn't say much, but he seemed a bit shocked. Talking to him calmed me down, so I decided I'd just have to chance it and try and find something further afield, even if it meant going back out to the place I'd stayed at the previous night - the one which cost a million pounds.

I went down and told the (rather bulshy) girl at the bar downstairs that the door didn't lock, and she said she'd send the manager up, who should be back in five minutes. I waited for half an hour, went back down, and was told that he would now be back in fifteen minutes. By this time it was getting late, and my chances of finding somewhere were getting slimmer.

Eventually he turned up, and had a look at the door. "Wait here a minute", he says, and rushes off downstairs. He came back with a handful of coasters, and proceeded to stuff them under the locking mechanism to try to pad it out! "Try that now", he said. I kind of looked at him, and he asked if it was alright, and I said "to be honest, I'd rather just have my money back and go and find somewhere else". So he gave me it back, and called me a taxi, and I went back to my old hotel of the previous night. Which was full.

Fortunately, the girl at the desk was really nice, so she called around and found somewhere for me. It was a £15 ride up the M6, and cost stupid amounts, but it was safe. I slept well, although by this time it was late, and got up feeling relatively composed for my bus ride north.