Couch Surfing 101

Surf's up people and despite the excitement of a reunion with the mates in good ol' London town, sleeping on floors (and the occasional nap over here and there;) ) can get to a point where it's just not fun anymore. Apart from feeling a bit like a freshly clipped toenail in a Caesar salad or a Bacon sandwich at a Bar Mitzvah, the tennis elbow one acquires from opening and closing a suitcase, the callouses forming on one's hands due to the absurd amounts of housework one does in an attempt to contribute in any small way possible, and the lower back pain from 10 nights on your standard Argos blue blow-up mattress, is enough to drive you and your poor housemates to drink. Make that 'walk you to drink' - Cars? Good god man, what is this of which you speak?! (Princess is not too chuffed with this whole public transport vibe by the way). Don't get me wrong, i am so eternally grateful for having a roof over my head, great food in my tummy and a bunch of very cool mates 24/7 who so don't seem to care that i'm becoming part of the furniture at all. Despite all this, you inevitably find yourself winding up your own arse, making yourself out, in your own head, as a real pain in the left buttock to everyone else around you. And so, in a guilty dwaal, the time to bugger off and blend into the carpet of another housefull of helpless victims will come. And on it goes.
The great thing is tho, couch surfing is a bit like the local bicycle - everyone's done it. So there's a lot of sympathy and understanding. And also a lot of carpet burn. Hey, you take the good with the bad.