I made it! The plane landed and I didn't die, haHA! I won that bet... against mySELF!!!!!!
.... ....
Yeah, sorry. I've been in this internets type type room for hours, it's hot and muggy and um English. Sitting in the Judges chair of the courtroom-turned-internet chatroom, eating doritos. The hostel I'm staying at is an old refurbished courthouse, where Charles Dickens worked while he wrote and immortalised the adventures of Oliver Twist. More recent residents include rock legends The Clash, who were held in the cells in 1978 for shooting at pigeons. As you do.
Yeah whatevs. The fright from Shanghai Airport (yup, the intercom lass at the airport really did say "Wish you have a present fright") started off nice. I scored an aisle seat, great for getting up and walking whenever I wanted, they handed out hot towels (I'm not sure what these are for though. I now have three cold damp towels in my backpack). There was bungee-jumping on the telly, and I found a station on the in-fLight radio that played some awesome French music.
It all went down-hill with the first meal. Thought I'd get fish again, since it worked out so well the first leg of the trip. Nup, I got served a strip of vulcanised lizards cock from the moon. The gentleman next to me got drunk from one glass of wine (decent South Australian Shiraz surprisingly) and proceeded to have a conversation AT me. You know someone ain't a real drinker when they insist on swirling their economy-class airline wine around and around in their plastic airline cup and sniffing at it.
The flight over Russia and Afghanistan afforded some fantastic views of desert and snow-capped mountain, that was nice. The view of England (I think the 'Eng' in England means 'hedge') was lovely. And London looks real purdy from the air. Very um.. green and old and lots of pointy bits.
Woooo, Heathrow Airport! Noooo, Heathrow Customs & Immigration :(
The line was long, like proper long. One queue for three separate flights, India and Dubai I believe. Lots of angry sweaty people, much use of the F word. Finances. Nono, I mean fuck. Of course. I have to admit I was quite worried about getting through, I've heard they don't take kindly to my type round there (Aussie work-visa types, not sleepy side-burn-toting gentlemen of leisure) but I said the magic words and they let me in instantly. "Gosh I love your accent!"
Spent an hour wandering aimlessly, without aim, trying to find my bearings. Asked a rozzer (English slang for Police Officer, innit) for directions to the hostel I'd booked for the first two nights, but was too fascinated with his accent and funny hat to remember what he'd said. Haha, funny funny hat, eeeee!!
Found my way, finally (thanks for the map, Mel) to Clink78, a fantastic backpackers hostel in Kings Cross, London. Ten minutes from the Underground, a brilliantly efficient subway system ('Mind The Gap') which connects me with everything this city has to offer. MUCH EXCITEMENT! Step one though is of course to get some rest, I've been in transit for almost two whole days. Time diff is nine hours behind Melbourne, Australia. In hindsight, it was a silly silly decision for me to wander down to the bar for "a quick drink before bed."
Four hours, £20 of cider, and many lovely new friends later, and I went to bed. Unfortunately, some lovely young thing had decided to thieve it from me. George the Romanian, the one-man security chap here (he looks like Bono! A huge trench-coated don't-fuck-wif-me Bono) was kind enough to sort her out. Never found out why they called him George The Romanian.
Only got four hours of sleep. It'll take a few days to get over the jetlag, hoping I can just drink straight through it. Welcome to London, Wilski :)
