Recording My Spoiled Naivete

Well, all my harassment about unfulfilled promises has had an effect, and David has finally managed to deliver a satisfactorially-sketchy hotel room. He's actually described it as 'very nice' comparatively speaking, so I've understood that this hotel is among the nicer that I will be calling home over the course of the next eight months.
Nevertheless, it has managed to set a new low for my personal experience. (And I have pretty low standards.)

While complaining isn't going to make anything any better, and I don't really feel the need to vent, in the interest of preserving a record of this initial innocent disdain for the benefit of my presumably jaded later self, I'll record my various grievances here:
* floors, wall, ceiling, furniture and all facilities are in a general dumpster-level state of age and disrepair, though not offensively
* the bathroom rivals that featured in Trainspotting, offensively: no counter, soap, separate shower, flooring, covered drain, or door handle; the toilet lacks a seat, back cover, flusher, and toilet paper; extensive leaking, dripping, and consequent splashing everywhere from hanging showerhead/ faucet/ toilet/ wall leads to a sticky and wet floor and generally wet experience while using the loo; large hole in the ceiling leads to a wide and dusty metal duct
(perks must be acknowleged: operational door lock; water present in the toilet bowl, if foul; functional flush and tap; apparently functional showerhead- though temperature control would be a fantasy, and accidentally inserting one's naked foot into the toilet bowl, a risk)
* the only bedding provided on my bed is a faded sheet adorned with multiple small bloodstains
* the metal duct leading out of the bathroom 'ceiling' traverses the top of the room to exit presumably outside, and has played host several times in the past few hours to either the death or mating of a loud, heavy, and madly scrambling rat and/or other animal. We considered throwing a shoe at it to stop it but I was mildly concerned that such an assault might completely rupture the rickety duct, or otherwise upset the rat's stability on the gently sloping path leading directly to the aforementioned large hole in bathroom ceiling (said hole's merits as an escape route in the event of a zombie apocalypse have duly been noted and explained to David, the zombie-risk-uninitiated. I will do my best to enlighten him.)

Despite all this, the room is large and high-ceilinged, making it spacious, and quite comfortably generally speaking due to the two strong fans. There are also two patio chairs and a relatively new color television for our use, which blows my mind: for me, television rates far lower on the scale of hotel priorities than, say, a presumably-cheaper toilet seat.


POSTSCRIPT (next day): my failure to duly acknowledge the functional bathroom light earlier has duly been punished, as it now no longer works. flashlights ain't just for camping..