In Actual Fact…

“They’re all very open and direct about sexual matters”

I was English, she was German. We were at the same Scottish university (me for the maximum sentence the law allows, her for a year abroad) and, despite four or five months of unsubtle hints, coy looks and dancing naked in front of her window, it took until the last month of her being in the UK before we finally paired off.
At the time I never expected that anything serious would come of it, certainly not that nine years later we’d be living in Germany, arguing over who was going to get custody over the vacuum cleaner.
However, one morning, sitting with my flatmates trying to reconstruct what had happened during the previous evening of student bacchanalianism, it become increasingly obvious that I’d acquired a German girlfriend.
Of course, before she went home she wanted to explore the West Coast and Islands, so after getting her to reluctantly agree that we weren’t going anywhere near Skye, we set off together – bus passes, youth hostel cards and Caledonian MacBrayne tickets in hand.
Now, I’m not going to claim that my “take a girl away for a romantic week” abilities have improved very much since then. I did learn however, that Youth Hostels with large, single-sex dormitories are less than ideal for nocturnal trysts. Similarly, any enthusiasm for acts of outdoor intimacy were somewhat dampened by the fact that it was mid-June in West Scotland, ergo it was freezing and rained all the time. After approximately four or five days of this, we sat, somewhat dejected and certainly bedraggled on the south side of the Isle of Mull and decided, bollocks to the miniscule budget; we’re stopping at a bed and breakfast.
The dear old lady at the first place we tried with a “vacancies” sign turned us away – I’m not sure if this was because of our appearance or the fact that instead of asking for a room, I said, “We need to use a double bed, please”.
By the time we’d found the next B&B two miles down the road, I’d managed to perfect my opening sentence and we were in.
It did indeed have a double bed, which squeaked terribly and I was younger and fitter, with faster recovery times. I think we’ll leave it at that, I’m sure your imaginations are at least as sordid as mine.
Next morning, during the “Breakfast” part of the B&B experience, the owner was making casual chit-chat with us as we were the only guests; “yes, it would probably rain”, “had we seen the seals down at the loch through the window?”, “had we enjoyed yohoing?”
Had I enjoyed yohoing? Nowadays, I’m probably brazen enough to have replied “With this fine specimen of a woman? Damn right I have!” Then, I merely kicked German girl under the table and sat in embarrassed silence, not knowing quite what to say and wishing I’d tied the gag a bit tighter.
Sensing my disquiet, and after what seemed like about twenty minutes of deathly silence, the owner pointed towards our rucksacks, “You know? YOuth HOstelling.”
I let out an audible sigh and, relieved, reached for another piece of toast.

“Ah!” said German girl, “And I thought you meant had we had fun having so much loud sex last night?”

I put the toast back, paid quickly, put a false name in the guest book and we left straight away.

Song playing as this was published: Billy Bragg - “Greetings To The New Brunette”