I am a Jekyll and Hyde of emotions. One minute I am down, the next I am up. The medical term for such behaviour is known as ‘bipolar’, but I am anything but. Indeed, I have come to my own conclusion for my fickle behaviour, and in doing so, I have invented a new disease.

It’s called Football Fickleness Syndrome, or FFS, as it will be known in medical circles. FFS is synonymous with long-term football fans that have supported a crap team for most of their lives; after a succession of defeats it’s all doom and gloom for the side. However, once the taste of defeat is soon replaced with something much sweeter - a couple of victories, and with other results going your way elsewhere, it’s all rosy once more. Sadly, these result patterns rub off on the fans’ of the clubs involved, and it inadvertently affects their lives away from the beautiful game.

Case in point, me: I have moved back to the hostel this week (15/11) as I wisely decided not to pay two weeks rent for my cockroach infested house of old whilst I was away in Fiji. Therefore, I was left with no alternative other than to move back into the hostel until I get back on my feet, and hopefully find new digs.

For my first few nights I was ready to commit GBH on almost everyone associated with Base Backpackers. (That’s something like 400 people.) From squeaking beds to loud roommates, getting a good night’s sleep here isn’t an option. In my current room of eight I am the only person who works, so getting my customary seven hours before my 5am rise has yet to be achieved. In addition, my room initially resembled something out of the Crystal Maze, where the challenge was to navigate your way around the free floor space without stubbing your toe, or to avoid stepping on one of the many upturned plugs that lay loosely around the floor. I am convinced it was, and still is, a fire hazard, as there simply isn’t room for four bunk beds, and their occupants, and their belongings. Sadly, I was initially located on the bottom bed on one of the bottom bunks in the middle of the room, meaning that if I turned my back I’d ignore one side of the room. This was highly annoying – so much so that I simply stopped talking to people altogether. (Last Sunday, 16th, a blonde lass moved into the room. Because I hang my towel at the end of my bed to dry, I am unable to see the next bunk, so upon her arrival I shifted my towel to one side so I could strike up a rapport with her. However, after finding out that she was French, and that English wasn’t her first language, I promptly shifted the towel back to its original position. Consequently, I took up ignoring her, along with the majority of my other roommates.)

Anyway, we have since re-jigged the room so that every bed is facing the walls looking in. Seriously, after some casual feng shui that Wednesday night (12th) I was happy as Larry, and there’s the fickleness of it all. All it took was some readjustments and I take up speaking to everyone – including the French girl. (Nancy is her name and I don’t mind that every conversation we have had begins with her admission ‘that I don’t speak the English that well’.) I am now a black belt in the fine art of feng shui, and in doing so, I no longer want to commit GBH on anyone.

The parallels of this example, along with supporting a football team, are resounding. I am in the same room as I was at the beginning of the week, where I wanted to inflict pain upon as many people as I felt necessary (the equivalent, of course, being something like Tottenham’s start to the season), but by moving the beds ever so slightly I am happy once more (just like I am now Harry is in Charge. A couple more victories and we’re back up the league). Stockholm Syndrome was invented on a whim, so I feel there is a place for FFS. I imagine there are millions of sufferers around the world, both male and female, who have suffered in silence for years. The more I think about it the more I can relate my newly found disease to all walks of my life. Hopefully, though, with some awareness we’ll be able to rid the planet of it.

The waifs and strays that pop in a hostel, however, would be worthy of their own reality TV show. Seriously, in a world of crap programmes such as ‘I’m a Celebrity…’, or ‘A Farmer Wants A Wife’, the characters that appear within this building could make a successful show. (Alan Partridge, in all fairness, did suggest such a show called ‘Youth Hostelling with Chris Eubank’. I would pay good money to watch that, even though I do not like the lisp speaking, truck driving tosser that is Eubank. Sadly, however, Partridge’s idea was turned down, but it certainly has potential).

Exhibit one of my proposed youth hostelling programme would involve a current tenant at Base who is being evicted at the end of the week. I do not know him personally, but I have seen this person, a male of athletic build in his late 30’s/early 40’s, strutting around. Apparently, he has been lodging within the hostel for a number of weeks, but throughout his time he approaches men to see if they want a body massage. He never asks women if they require his gentle touch, just men, and, as you may assume, every man has so far rejected his advances.

However, after he has been refused his right to let his hands run wild over another mans back, he becomes aggressive with that very person. He has had a number of complaints lodged against him and therefore he has to move out. I was present when the night manager gave him his orders, and he denied all the allegations against him, despite the fact that two new victims were standing in front of him contradicting his every word.

I would pay good money to watch people like that on television. Before he gets the boot I am determined to get asked by him, just so I can see for myself if he does get aggressive. On Sunday (23/11) he was in the kitchen and I was by myself; I wanted to stretch and yawn and generally moan about having a stiff neck, all with the intention of him offering his services. However, as I was on my own, such behaviour from yours truly would have simply looked mad, and I’d appear as crazy as him. Crazy people aren’t tolerated here, as was the case of some Malaysian woman during my last stay who wanted to stab me ‘as I was infiltrating her son against her’. Indeed, if I was to appear crazy I would be heading the same way as my massage friend, but maybe that’s not a bad thing as I do need to get out of here soon. (There’s the FFS once more.)

Staying in this particular hostel means you soon get caught up in its many rituals, one of which is the weekly pub quiz. (On my first visit here, both Mike and I happened to win it) The elements were against us this time, however, largely because of the teammates on offer. For example, when the question ‘what is Elton John’s real name?’ was asked, one girl shouted (and she shouted in a way that intended to show her intelligence to the rest of the team – some eight other people) ‘Dwight Yorke’. Yep, that would be Dwight Yorke of Manchester United and Sydney FC fame. She was so insistent that she was correct that 20 minutes later she wanted to know if I did put down Dwight Yorke as the answer to question 9 in the general knowledge quiz. Needless to say, we didn’t win.

Other than that, I have been keeping my head down at the hostel, choosing to rise when I want to speak to someone, and retracting when I can’t be bothered. In most cases, it's usually the same people involved, but after a seven-hour slog at work I often find myself not in the mood. That said, at times I am willing to go out and get messed with my roomies, as was the case on Friday (20/11) when a big group of us paid visit to the pubs in and around the Opera House. I probably have the most severe bout of FFS known to man!

Despite my precarious financial situation (I haven’t gone into detail about how precarious it is, but trust me, it’s precarious) I decided to buy a ticket to the dance festival that is Global Gathering. In doing this I have also fulfilled a promise I made myself many moons ago, in that I will attend a reputable dance festival in 2008. There are about half a dozen of us from the hostel who are attending, and with Kraftwerk headlining it’s going to be money well spent. The German group seldom perform live; I know of no one who has seen them, and I am going just to say ‘I have seen Kraftwerk’. Indeed, Alan Partridge once famously said: komme sie bitte und listen to Kraftwerk.

Despite devising an awesome line up, the organisers decided to host the event on a Sunday. Running from midday to 10pm I can see myself getting rather messy, and on a school night, too. I want to have a ‘get out of jail free card’, just in case my fears come to presence, so I haven’t told anyone at work about my plans - just in case I fail to turn up next Monday.

To whet the appetite, both Lysey and I went to see German house legends Booka Shade this Saturday (22/11). I would willingly attend these sorts of events on my own, solely because I enjoy the music so much. Moreover, I am of the school of thought that if I suggest going with someone who is not into the scene, they perhaps won’t have a good time, and that detracts from my enjoyment. Nevertheless, Lysey had a great time, so my fears were dumbfounded. The concert hall, a theatre by trade, was rammed with 800 or so people, and the four-hour gig had everyone pumped. Even if dance music weren’t your bag, I would recommend going to see Booka Shade just to experience the energy of one of their performances.