Check-in and weird street person

I checked into the hotel; seaside, classy, the kind of place where you half‑expect a man in a linen suit to hand you a cocktail and whisper “Welcome, mister van Veldhuijzen… we’ve been expecting you.”  
Great room too. Spacious. Comfy bed. View of the waves...well, probably in the morning daylight. Everything perfect… except the shocking absence of a fridge. A fridge! In 2026! Even cavemen had cold storage, although they called it winter.

So there I was, forced into a heroic expedition to the local Tesco Express, like some sort of modern‑day Marco Polo but with less silk and more bottled water. Naturally, I returned not only with water from the refrigerated section, but also a Coke and a diet Dr Pepper (because hydration is important, but so is personality).

On my way back, I encountered a loud, clearly German fellow who was, shall we say, "angeschossen". You know, not quite drunk, not quite sober, but definitely in that magical zone where gravity becomes optional. He was accompanied by a very friendly lady who, after approximately three seconds of conversation, decided to flip the social table and declare me the weird one.

Which, honestly, feels like an achievement. I hadn’t even unpacked my suitcase yet.

So yes, between the fridge‑less hotel, the Tesco pilgrimage, and being labeled “the weird person” by two fellow MoT-tees…  
..this trip is already promising to be memorable. Possibly even legendary.