the sh*t, the fan and everything in between

Some days, it's the little things that really bust your ass.

Stumbled in the door tonight cold, dirty, smelly yet satisfyingly shattered after eight hours of Old Macdonald Had a Farm and 'What are THEY doing? THEY are listen-ING to music!' only to turn the bathroom tap and be welcomed by a dry hiss... and nothing more.
No water.
No ****ing water. Not a drop. Zilch. Nothing. Nada.

During those first few horrifying minutes in which I stood in my grimy little bathroom, wrenched helplessly at the tap and shrieked 'No... not again... not tonight...' I would have thought nothing of sticking a needle in my eye if someone had told me it would make hot water burst from that damn shower head.

It didn't matter that last year I went for six weeks without even knowing a drop of hot water whilst teaching at a school in India; it didn't matter that my hot water cylinder once broke down in the middle of winter back home; it didn't matter that it was only a two-minute walk to Paul and Ali's, my dearest friends in China, who would no doubt spare me a splash or two in their own bathroom.

No. I just wanted a ***king shower in my own ***king bathroom and I wanted it right there and then. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently so.

Unfortunately, China doesn't always deliver. So I'm learning, anyway. This is the second time I've been left high and dry (whilst in stinking need of a bathe). I've also grappled with a blocked toilet, cockroaches (both of which I may have already mentioned), black dust, chokingly dry air and - more my fault than China's - a sprained/strained ankle, chapped hands and recurring insomnia.

I'm looking and feeling less than healthy. And, if I'm honest, whinging a bit.

From the outset, it probably seems like I'm not enjoying myself. And yeah, I'm going to admit outright that there are some things that really ***king suck.

But one doesn't grow from lying back on silken pillows and being spoon-fed sugared almonds (though, right now, I wouldn't say no to it).

It's the shit hitting that fan that makes us strong; the what-doesn't-kill-you stuff. The grit in your tea bag, the squashed bug in your trainers, the worm in your last apple.

Or so they say anyway.

That's enough of my being noble about this shit. I'm going to bed.