Praise be to local libraries that gather small surprises from promising New Zealand Writers. One of these is Vanilla Daze by Rod Bridgman.

Bridgman recounts two years, during the mid-nineties, of living in a decrepit London hotel. He is moved regularly from room to room, 'If you think you’re in a "bad room" when the overweight and overpaid German tourists come – as opposed to a "really bad room", they get you to move. God forbid you should have the pleasure of a "bad room".'

His acquaintances are made up of dysfunctional and sometimes idiotic types. He submerges himself in chaotic experiences but manages to redeem and recognise himself through writing.

Vanilla Daze, is absorbing and funny, shocking and self-deprecating, and to its credit never demands sympathy. But then, as Bridgman himself remarks, 'loneliness and desperation' is an exploration 'in the spiritual sense'.

This autobiographical novella is not for the faint-hearted: a dive into the deepest waters and the relief, as a reader, of being able to come up for air.