By Chloe Hosking
When my sister and I briefly entertained the idea that we wanted to share a room when I was about three and she was five my parents didn’t bat an eyelid; probably because they knew the phase would last a grand total of three hours before World War Three would break out over which puggle belonged to who.
After that, for me, the concept of sharing rooms had been confined to school camps and sleep overs and I suppose my lack of room-mates has lead me to develop a few odd habits.
Indeed, I seem to have become the teammate that needs a caution tag when roomed with someone; caution may scream; caution may sleep talk; caution prone to unconscious movement.
One particular night during the Giro I woke up screaming and kicking at the bed next to me. I’m not talking a yelp that lasts half a second, I’m talking a prolonged scream worthy of a horror film.
Needless to say it was enough to wake up and trigger my two room-mates, Evelyn and Ally, scream-flexes who also started screaming.
I’d been convinced there was someone in the room and had grabbed Ally’s pillow, ready to attack – in reality I’d just grown too used to sleeping alone and the intruder was Ally’s foot. To be honest, I was a little disappointed that no-one came running to check on us, our screams had been so loud and lasted for so long I couldn’t believe that it didn’t wake the entire floor; we were in Napoli after all.
The ‘incident’ served to fuel my already shaky reputation as a room-mate.
Last year Ina had a few unfortunate encounters with me, another of which involved screaming. Waking up in the middle of the night and having no idea where I was I could see this figure walking towards me. “Who’s there!? Who’s there!?” I demanded but didn’t receive an answer as the figure kept moving towards me. I started screaming and pushing myself into the corner.
Ina, ear plugs in and still half asleep was walking back from the bathroom and hadn’t heard my questions, she did however hear my scream. “Chloe! It’s me, it’s Ina!” I think both our heart rates were higher from the shock that night than the actual race the next day.
One another occasion I was woken by Ina asking me, “Chloe? What are you doing?” Cramped into cubicle sized rooms our beds were separated by centimeters and I’d for some reason started stroking Ina’s back.
I was horrified! “Oh my god! I think I was just hitting on you!” While at the time I thought I needed a straight jacket because I couldn’t be trusted when sleeping it served as good entertainment for the rest of tour, even if I was the butt of all the jokes.
Fortunately, about six days into the Giro I was provided with some solace when Ally started having a conversation with herself, yelling out Ina’s name at least three times. Finally, I’m not the only one prone to odd sleeping habits!