date:07.20.06
current location: The Marlborough Head, London, UK
mileage:0
price of gas: a pretty penny I suspect
temperature: too hot for hauling overflowing bags all over the tube.
comments: So here is the basic format I will be trying adhere to for the regular updates. I am trying write things down as soon as possible. As a result some of my posts may be a bit difficult to follow and long winded. The stateside moderator may be able to head some potential issues off, but keep in mind I am typing on very small keyboard for someone with fat fingers. Enough jibberish here’s the recap of my trip to England.
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Its amazing that regardless of ample warning these big trips always seem to sneak up on me. As suits a truly amazing adventure, I did a truly horrendous job of packing. In fact I am pretty sure the lady at the check-in counter was laughing at how over packed my backpack was. I took the liberty of dropping a few “Well its off to Mongolia once I get to London”, you know because somehow that should justify an over flowing bag.

I am currently sitting in Burlington, waiting on a delayed flight. I got a bit of shakedown when I pulled the wiffle ball bat off of back. “Its for this unsanctioned transcontintental series of no consequence.” No one seemed to notice that I had spoken, they were busy arguing whether or not it was allowable. “Well its not loaded, looks like the real thing.” I felt like saying, “Look sister, I am not on the juice and I have never corked a bat.” Then I remembered we were discussing a wiffle ball bat, apparently the others had reached the same conclusion and I was ushered through, as the stocky fellow declared, “Can’t travel without wiffle ball, now can you?” I nodded my head and continued on.

Can I blame piss poor air travel on peak oil or at least global warming? It doesn’t look good for me making it to London tomorrow, in fact I suspect I will be spending far too much time in Newark. That my friend, is not my idea of a good vacation. It is quite the opposite in reality. The worse thing would be if I make it to London in time, but my bags are delayed until after the rally starts. Man is air travel nerve wracking, Al Gore should do something about it.

On the plane heading for Newark, its going to be one heck of a hustle when we hit the ground, I am not optimistic but as always you must give it the ole college try.

You would really think I would learn my lesson, but no I never do. Got off the plane in Newark with 12 minutes to spare and immediately took off running. Obviously, whenever you are late it is an absolute guarantee that your gate will be the single farthest point from where you dock. Was it Newton or Galileo that presented the physics theorem related to this fact? So I ran like a man possessed, leaping from the end of the moving walkway like a gazelle, pausing for a moment to scope my path, dashing through the crowds like a F1 driver. When I reached the gate, I was only suffering from a mild respiratory malfunction. That’s when an odd thing occurred to me, there was an awfully large number of people sitting around with glum looks on their faces. This could mean only one thing, delayed flight. Saved and screwed in one moment.

As I sat down to eat some much needed food, I noticed the small piece of paper attached to my arm. Oh yeah, that’s right I was bleeding profusely from my arm during the descent into Newark. Having failed to pack any first-aid gear whatsoever in my carry-on, I deftly tore a piece of a magazine card and applied it to the suspect wound. Thus avoiding a bloody mess, for the time being.

An hour and a half later, we were on our way to the old country. I must say the flight was one the most enjoyable hops over the big pond in recent memory. I watch one of cheesier movies in current rotation and took advantage of the full row to sleep the majority of the way.

I have not been in England since 2003. The first thing to jump out at me upon taxiing (is that really a word) was the utter abundance of low fare airlines. Some of these cats must have just one plane, like that show wings, I wonder what the British Loel is like.

Thus far Britain has been as stereotypical as could ever be imagined. I sat in the “q ” for a good hour waiting on customs, I overheard some worker type state to a traveler, “Right love, its a safety thing, right, that’s it, right, that’s what its all about.” I think he was talking about the 4 wheel independent steering the luggage carts have, which I can assure you serves no safety mechanism in the least. Everything costs twice as much and is twice as small, this includes our hotel room, the trains, and meals. Not wishing to disturb the delicate balance of stereotypes, I have pledged to uphold at least a few of the American ones. I picked out the most obnoxious shirt I could find and strolled down to the closest pub for a pint and some fish and chips. Which is where I currently sit in hopes that Jen finds me.
Nathaniel

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