I've slept in some pretty strange places.
I don't mean when I've been camping although that might qualify too as I've pitched tents everywhere from inside a ruined church to on the side of a sand dune to a field so waterlogged that an anchor would have been more use than tent pegs.
No, I mean in hotels. I still shiver with disgust when I think of the hotel where I spent the night after crossing from
Another time I shared a twin room in a high rise in Hong Kong with a guy from
Other accommodation has included a large, near derelict and – apart from me – entirely empty building in
Without question though the weirdest ever was the Hotel Trinidad in
Cellophane butterflies above the stone fountain;
Dismembered dolls fill the cabinet.
Reaching for sanity's climbing a mountain,
But we can't leave the valley quite yet.
Arms, legs and heads on a separate shelf -
Where did the torsos all go ?
Charlie Chaplin in cardboard admiring himself
It's clear there's something we don't know.
The inflatable Batman who stands on the stairs,
Wobbling with each passing breeze,
Is surrounded by cupboards that might just be coffins.
This psychotic place is diseased.
Torsos and fish net painted red white and blue;
A bowling ball stands on a plate;
A wraught iron pedastal supports one pink shoe;
Under the water a smiling cold face.
Rows of tights filled with sand have been nailed to a board
Above glass jars full of debris and dust.
A rocking horse body is missing its head
It seems a betrayal of trust.
How did we get here ? I can't be quite sure.
When will we leave ? I don't know.
Through the cracks in the mirror I watch my reflection
And realise there's no hurry to go.