Oh. My. God. Our hostel, Bamboo Billabong Backpackers, offers a great price (£5.10 a night) but my word you suffer at their hands. In the night we were shown to our room which turned out to be a wicker shed around the back of the establishment. Our 'double bed' was the size of a very single bed and had a luminous and holed mosquito net adorning it. The height of the bed left about a foots clearance from the roof, meaning that we had to slide in sideways and look like the custard within an apple danish. There was one, miserable fan in the shed that we were sharing with six other people and it was absolutely sweltering, claustrophobic and altogether horrendous. I spent the entire night waking every thirty minutes, panting like a dog and beating Chelsea's legs back onto her side of the thin mattress. It is undoubtably one of the worst nights sleep I've had whilst travelling (up there with the Eco Lodge in Fiji). If I'm honest I felt a scoach teary, staring through the netting at the roof a few millimetres from my face whilst sweat poured out of my quaking, dehydrated body.

I awoke for the hundredth time at a painful 6:30 and gave up attempting to sleep. With my eye lids creaking over my red eyeballs I clambered down from my bunk, and meandered out to the front of the hostel. A few billion flys eagerly greeted me so I stood under the cold, dribble of a shower for half an hour and waited for Chelsea to wake up. How she slept that night I will never know, I think that I will probably be bitter about it until my dying day.

Finally, Chelsea roused and we set out to complete our list of jobs for the day. I was in a foul mood and under protest entered a hair dressers for a hair cut. Due to a hairline like Patrick Stewart I had caved into getting a 'number two' all over.

I look absurd. Following my horrendous night sleep and now my shaved head I look like a very old bowling ball. My shadow looks like Spock and children definitely look frightened when they see me. Chelsea gave encouraging words like, 'Maybe we shouldn't go that short next time' and 'maybe if you were a bit musclier you could pull it off'. I couldn't believe my ears or eyes. Dejected, tired and feeling like an alien I dragged my flip flopped feet to an Internet cafe so that we could print off our visas for Vietnam.

With little else to do we set up shop in a very niche french cafe right on the water front. The waves colliding with the bottom of the cafe's wall was rhythmical and sleep inducing and we happily mused away the day with a red horse beer in hand.