I've never been very good at 'crashing' at other people's houses. If I'm given a bedroom of my own and can freshen up the following morning, fine, but the thought of waking up on a sofa in an unfamiliar house fills me with dread. I also hate the prospect of having to make my way home with a crushing hangover.
However, when an evening out with some workmates turned into a major drinking session I was more than happy to accept a generous offer of a bed for the night. In the morning I woke up feeling a little the worse for wear and went to the bathroom. This is what I found...
Had I unwittingly ended up in a crack den? I was intending to have a bath, but after seeing the state of the carpet I decided not to bother.
I wish that I wasn't so suburban in my attitudes. When I'm in a busy restaurant surrounded by friends, downing flaming Sambucas, I think that I'm being terribly Bohemian. But once the alcohol has worn off, I turn into my mother and start tutting about the general level of cleanliness.
I don't suppose I'll change.