I wave goodbye to my teary eyed parents and sister after our last meal of subway and sushi. After a short short walk through the duty free aisles I decided not to repeat the five finger discounting that took place on previous overseas trips. Two bottles of rum and a carton of dunhills heavier I galavanted on down to gate 37 to size up the opposition. Not long until boarding and troops were restless. I don't they realised that the seats are already booked. As politley as possible they shoved thier way foreward so they could be first in line to wait to board. I eyed them up and down. My mind was racing. Resiting the urge to reach for my iPod I sifted through different scenarios for each person. Where they were going, what work they did, why they would be flying first class and of course all the time rating the skirt and picking which ones I would like to sit beside.
I didn't get the foxy looking blonde nor the american backpackers but I did get seated next a really nice Czech lady. I regailed her with stories of the old country and she stared at me with a bemused look and then proceeded to explain how things realy are in Prague. It was good talking to her. As far as good goes with that plane trip, the czech woman is where it ended. Enter the reincarnation of the devil. A three month old baby situated in the seat in front of me. Awesome. The baby wasn't that much of a problem, although the longest time it stoped crying for was about 15 minutes. No, the problem was the parents. They let this turd child wail for for a good 5 to 10 mintues before they even flinched. Maybe they were used to the shreiks of hell, I, and the other hundred or so people, were not. In my view they should have decapitated they child on boarding and flushed out those suction toilets shortly after takeoff. Maybe thats a little harsh, I don't know. So, in the 23 hours from Sydney to London I ammassed one hours sleep.
Arms outstreched and looking like I had just finished a week long weed bender I plodded off the plane a 5.30am and was greeted with glorious 0 degree temperatures. My zombie frame carried all my crap to a bus and I got myself on the Piccidilly line into the city. Along with the other night shift zombies going home I started to get excited. My mind began to race again. Creating back stories for each of the undead passengers. I got myself into such a silent frenzy I almost let out a random noise. Harking back to the noisemaker days at school. But no I resisted the urge to yell stupid nothings at strangers. I sat silently and waited for a tube station, the name of which | recognized. There it was, Hyde Park Corner. I got out and lugged my bags up the stairs and into siberia.
The cold hit me like an anvil dropping from the sky in a roadrunner cartoon. I was disoriented and needed to slash. The icy wind bit into me and I started to shiver. 'All will be well if I can just find a public toilet' I told myself. Yes, there it was. Hyde Park toilets my salvation. No, No, No. My perfect plan unravelled. It was 7.30am and the toilets didn't open till 8. Bugger it I'm going in the bushes. After letting fly, I sat down to take stock. I was the coldest I've ever been in my life, so tired I had turned into a zombie, there was about ten hours till I had to meet Zigga and I no longer had to piss. Not bad. There was one thing in my favour however, I was in LONDON, yeah!!! Despite the bullshit of the last 24 hours, I was happy. Although my bloodshot eyes strained to stay open, there was a silly grin on my face that couldn't be wiped off.
Without a map, I roamed the streets for about an hour until I found myself on Oxford Street. I bought a little map and set about ticking off all the touristy landmarks that I guess I had to to see. For a preson who doesn't like cities I had an okay time wandering around with camera in hand. Then it happened. I was walking along through one of the parks on my way the Buckingham Palace. Minding my own business, eyes still googled, and some ash flew over my shoulder. What the fuck. You can't ash one me you pomy bastard. I spun around with with fists loosley clenched by my sides. There was no one within 50 metres of me. I looked up above me just in case it was a smoking ninga who jumped up in the tree. No, nothing. I kept walking. It happened again. I spun around so quick, there was no way any ninga could get away. Nothing, I was by myself. Starting to freak out I picked up the pace. Then the ash came down everywhere, all over me. It's like it was raining. Raining ash, what was happening. No no, I'm an idiot. Think boy, you're in London in winter, it's really cold, it's snowing. I stopped and watched it fall for a while and had a good laugh.
After the long day I met Zigga at the Whtie City tube station, the home of the BBC, and we trotted off to his house and talked shit and drank rum. We went out to his hockey trivia night, at which I knew no answers and didn't care. I was so tired, I fell asleep in my chair. To tired to get drunk. There is something fundamentally wrong with that situation. Luckily it was an early night and we got a lift home with zigga's girl. I slept in the car on the way home and had some nice photos of myself taken. I'm still adament however that I was asleep and not passed out. The next morning however, I was questioning that statement.
I'm not usually one to throw up the morning after a night out. I'm strictly a night time chunder fiend. However that satuday morning I raced through to the toilet and made friends early before the Frenchies awoke. I sat back down and watched some winter olympics and drank some water thinking i was in the clear. One of the Frenchies, Matt, woke up and I watched him dip buttered toast into a large bowl of nesquick. Oh, well he's French I thought. Not long after Matt finished his 'Breakfast' I was forced to reaquaint my friendship with my new porcalein buddy. Thats wierd I thought.
Saving the particulars of throwing up water over and over again. My porcalein friendship continued for the next two days. I couldn't hold down any food or liquid. It was really fun. I wasn't going to complain. I was still in London ans this sickness would pass. And it did on Monday. So I missed out on a Saturday night out in London. Not heaps happy about that but I'm sure I'll make up for it later on in Barcelona.
I still put it down to that spawn of satan on the plane.
