Dear diary…

Thoughts from a shared hotel room

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Dear diary,

I am writing this on my ‘phone in the dark of a shared hotel room. It’s a beachcomber themed room with a carpet of sand and sea. My phone is on silent, the screen turned to the lowest setting. Though it’s always at a moody setting because too bright screens hurt my eyes. When I show my phone to another they’re often surprised by the darkness I’m comfortable with. I’m told it’s a green eyes thing; the light sensitivity. I think it’s a me thing as well. I hate loud noises too despite having dreadful hearing from too many gig nights stood next to speakers.

The hotel room is quiet-ish. The odd excited child’s shriek from the corridor. We’re at Alton Towers, or Alton’s Tower as my son calls it. I shall forever now call it that, imaging Alton to be a rotund, red-cheeked 30 something first-born son who inherited his father’s great pile. Forced to conjure it into a theme park to afford its upkeep. Poor Alton and his costly tower.

We are spending the whole day at Splash Landings tomorrow. His class are on