This is it, am leaving to good ol’ Texas today, heart of cowboy country.  The rather audacious plan is to work on a ranch for a few weeks with the best Brazilian riders in the world, and then ride bulls in a couple of Rodeo’s.    My bull riding form may be a tad rusty, having not been anywhere near an animal for the past month.   

  Just on that, sorry to anyone following this blog for the lack of updates, but I’ve just spent time with my girlfriend travelling around America.   My journey into the heart of bull riding will continue in earnest today, and the good news is that, so long as I’m not down and out sleeping on a damp hay bale in a disheveled shed in Texas, or strung up somewhere in traction, I have resolved to blog three times a week.  (I probably will blog even if down and out sleeping on a damp hay bale in Texas).

 For the past week, I’ve been staying at a lively little jaunt on Hollywood blvd called Banana Bungalow.   It’s the full-on communal loud German snoring bunk bed situation.  This is what happened last night:  I returned from a night out and went to jump into my bed and noticed someone was already in it.  Interesting.  Not wanting to cause a scene, I found an empty bed in the room, but, when attempting to climb in it, discovered something auspiciously wet on the sheets.   Still not wanting to cause a fuss, but at the same time, not wanting to sleep in another person’s vomit, I approached reception and told them of my little conundrum.  After twenty minutes of casing other rooms and finding no other spare beds, there was only one option left – to confront the person in my bed.   The hostel worker and I go back to my room, turn on the light and discover that there are, in fact, two people in my bed.   After waking them, they sheepishly get out.   I don’t think the guy was even meant to be staying there and who knows what happened to their bed.  So, I’m now going to sleep and the guy (who was in my bed) starts asking me if I’ve seen his phone charger.

  “Um no,” I reply.

   Five minutes later, he taps me on the shoulder and asks again if I’ve seen his phone charger.  At this point the humour of the situation has waned. 

  “Look mate, I have just found you sleeping with a girl in my bed and have been far more liberal than most.   This is the last time I will tell you:  I have not seen your charger.  Do not ask again.”

  The guy mentions his phone charger again and I think: this is it; I’m seriously going to thump him.  I go through what I have to do in my mind: It will look ridiculous of course, wrestling on the floor in underpants as backpackers try to sleep around us.  

  Anyway, it fizzles out.  While conjuring up an image of banging his head against a bunk bed post, he exits the room.

  So that’s the story.  I’m too old to live in hostels.