anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,
anotherlongshot
anotherlongshot

First impressions.

I slept at 2.38 a.m. on 21 September 2012 Singapore time and woke up at 5.30 a.m. to take a 13-hour flight to London. I'm now in London. It's currently 3.51 a.m. Singapore time on 22 September 2012 and I don't know what the local time is. I barely slept on the plane and watched 4 and a half movies (didn't finish one of them).

I am SO tired right now. That isn't stopping me from staying up a bit and writing this to put on record how appalled I am by the size of my room. It's so small. It's SO small. I got the ugly green colour scheme which makes me want to vomit, and the size of the toilet is just a joke. There's only enough space to stand and maybe turn your body slightly 90 degrees between the basin and the door. The basin, for some weird reason, is fixed really low and the glass rack for placing toothbrushes and shit threatens to hit my jaw when I lean forward to brush my teeth.

Best of all, get this: when I flush the toilet bowl, it produces this monstrous - I mean, MONSTROUS - sound that lasts for a good thirty seconds. It sounds like the flush is opening its mouth really wide and inhaling really deeply to suck in all that I have just discharged into the toilet bowl and the accompanying tissue papers...and then it proceeds to choke on them.

Fuck, what the fuck is this shit? I'm going to tell the landlords about this in the morning and they'd better sort it out for me.

Also, I ordered some bedding stuff from some online shop with which the management is affiliated, and can I just say that I have never seen such low quality bedsheets and pillows, and duvets too if I used a duvet in Singapore, in my entire fucking life? The feel of the sheets is so stiff that it's as if it's made of sandpaper, and I don't even know what the pillows' stuffings is made of. Oh, and of course, I don't have a bolster. And the bedsheet? It doesn't come with the elastic band to secure the sheet onto the mattress, so I have to literally stuff the sheet under the mattress in order for it to cover the mattress. The sheet seems too wide and too short - can't cover the length properly and have excess cloth at the sides.

I made the bed and inserted the duvet into the duvet cover all by myself and resisted the urge to run next door where my parents' are staying and crash in their room. Granted, I was way too tired to move my ass, but the temptation was certainly a lot stronger than my fatigue at one point - namely, when I was trying to stuff the damn duvet into the cover and getting irritated.

Oh my god I feel rashes on my neck. My face feels blotchy, my skin is so dry, I am wearing long pyjamas pants, I feel like mopping the floor and cleaning every inch of this room including all furniture, and I've done nothing but complain so far, and yet, being here is pretty great.

I really have to sleep. I can't hear myself think anymore.

One last thing: Immigration was painful - literally. I saw the queue for international students and was told by the 10 million signs everywhere that I needed to have my CAS number ready (no idea what it stands for; it's issued by the university for visa purposes) as well as my university's offer letter. I packed the latter in my laptop bag, which was with my dad, who was already deep in the normal customs queue. I had to call my mom to tell her to tell him that I needed the letter.

Next, I had to turn on my 3G and painstakingly load my emails back 3 months to get the CAS number. I did this while holding a really, REALLY heavy hand-carry bag on my left arm while clutching my NUS transcript and LSE offer package + passport + handphone pouch, while holding the phone in my left hand and scrolling with my right, with a really heavy handbag on my right shoulder. I swear I did this for at least 15 minutes and felt a sense of elation when I narrowly found the email; I was maybe 10 people away from being at the head of the queue.

Guess what? When I reached the immigration counter, the British guy looked at my passport, looked at me, took my thumb print, and told me that that was that.

While I was relieved that he didn't ask for any bank documents which obviously I didn't have with me (I only realised at 2 a.m. on 21 September that I probably had to check whether I needed to bring any documents with me), I couldn't believe what I put myself through for what was essentially nothing.

I really just need this day to end.

(PS. I don't understand why the search function on the email app on the iPhone doesn't work. It doesn't load messages that are too old, however that is defined. It's so stupid. If the search function actually worked, I wouldn't have had to do all that.)

(PPS. I need to clean the shit out of this room. I feel itchy as hell. UGH FML FML FML.)
Tags: london, rant
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