A baleful pair of eyes staring at me from the sink made me jump as I sat on the loo. The large gecko continued to stare as I edged past him out of the door. Sneaking a look at him, I noted he had an ominnously spiked tail, part of which had obviously been lost somewhere. One of his feet was missing a toe. He was a decidedly manky-looking specimen. But as such he matched his surroundings perfectly. The bathroom was sizeable, although in a we-couldn't-afford-enough-fixtures-to-fill-it kind of way rather than a wow-how-spacious-and-roomy kind of way. Two further geckos appeared to live in it, alongside the chap in the sink; a tiny one who lived behind the waste pipe and a beast of a thing who tended to hang out on the ceiling beams above the leaky shower. There was a mysterious plughole - complete with plug - right in the middle of the badly-tiled floor. I could only assume, after careful examination of the curiously holey roof, that it was there to drain the bathroom when it rained.
When I tell people what I do for a living, they always remark on how lucky I am to travel the world for work, and how glamorous it must be jetting around from one place to another. Lucky? Most definitely. The 'glamorous' thing however I am beginning to take issue with.