A Beacon of Hope

For those of you who didn't keep up to date with my Euro adventures, a) Where have you been? and b) I'll fill you in on the essential information.

So this one time, in Europe, I was innocently crawling my way through the pubs of Prague. I'd successfully spilled my last koruna's worth of Jack Daniels all over my new skirt and the poor guy who happened to be sitting next to me.
I'd lost Bethan to a strange Brazilian man who was trying to lick the make up off her face and Hayleigh was nowhere to be found. And so it came about that as I stumbled through an underground bar, I got talking to a cute American guy, who drunkenly insisted that America was a beacon of hope for the rest of the world, and that I was "just the cutest thing". Naturally, I couldn't help being somewhat interested in a man who made so much sense (I'm referring to the latter point here, not so much the former).

This is the how he got the nickname the Beacon. Well, it was partly to do with the America thing and partly because he himself became a beacon of hope for single girls everywhere when he actually text me when he said he would. Yes these men do exist! But apparently you have to go to strange lengths to find them. And so the nickname stuck. Kind of like Mr Big from Sex and the City, but not so old and much better looking.

So now I'm back in Exeter, trying to be sensible and studious. My Eurotrip is a distant memory, but technically I had enough adventures in those three weeks to see me through into my mid-twenties. And yet somehow there is another one on the horizon.

"You're going to Germany to stay with a stranger you met when you were drunk in Prague? Well, you're never coming back."

Somehow, it doesn't sound so exciting when Kirsty says it.

But, pessimism of my housemates aside, a week today I am going to Germany to visit the Beacon. Naturally this has caused all sorts of problems. Where will I find suitable travelling stilettos at this late hour? How am I supposed to fit all the essentials into my hand luggage if KLM will insist on charging extortionate prices for an extra suitcase? How on Earth am I going to ensure my make up is perfect for an entire weekend? I mean, is it strange to apply makeup before bed to be in with a chance of looking halfway decent in the morning?

But perhaps the biggest question of all is, how is he possibly going to understand a word I say?


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