‘The Saint’, London - July 2010

‘If you write about me, be sure to refer to me as ‘the Saint,’’ he requests sincerely, explaining he has just spent time in Africa working with children and is somewhat worthy of the title. This demand in itself should have been an obvious sign that this guy is indeed, a bit of a wank. But, being true to my word, here I go.

Sprawled across the tacky pleather couch of the Generator hostel common room, I squint into the harsh lights, tipsy and distressed. He storms into the room from the bar and demand I speak with him. ‘Just leave me alone please, I’m fine’, and I return my attention to my new friend Sam.

Hours before ‘the Saint’ and I had been friendly, having spent the entire day together visiting Windsor Castle. Returning back to the hostel from our day out, we set out on a mini pub-crawl around London with two Bavarian boys and, after several drinks he becomes far too friendly. I thought he might get the hint I wasn’t interested after the second time I take his hand off my backside, but he continues to be persistent. Or, maybe he does get the hint and is just overly keen for hook ups, because two minutes later he is sucking face with a leggy Dutch girl by the bar.

Happy that he is now off my case I begin to relax, until he comes back to the group and high-fives one of the boys, boasting egotistically, ‘that boys is how it’s done!’ He mistakes my disgust for jealousy, convinced I am indeed in love with him. Unfortunately for me this mistake leads to further attempts of sleazy groping.

Being unable to take no more of his vile behaviour, I round up the boys and we take the tube back to the hostel and it is here that I meet Sam. Sam comes to my rescue after a rather drunken Englishman tries to shove his bare crutch in my face - lucky me, I know.

Bailing from the bar I take up position on the lounge and Sam follows me out to try comfort me, until in walks ‘the Saint’ insisting he be my knight in shining armour and me insisting he get as far away from me as possible. Exploding with unjustified anger, he picks up a chair and kicks it at me from across the room while shouting nonsensically before storming out, leaving me very confident in saying that not only is he NOT a saint, he is also the rudest backpacker I have ever met.