G-G-G-G-G Get Out of London
A last-minute visit to a cousin before heading
home
17 March 1999:
G-G-G-G-G Get Out of London
Well,
my final day in London. I just love London. Of course, the grass is always
greener on the other side of the Atlantic, especially when you consider that the
English invented lawns.
I was up all
night packing, consolidating, and tossing out junk. But, I woke up early enough.
Said goodby to Danny. Mucked around a bit. Had a good chat with Susie and then I
took the Jubilee Line to Swiss Cottage and visited my cousin Sharon. My final
toddler of the trip, Amy, was very well-behaved and even took a nap. Now that's
childrearing. After a lunch Sharon dropped me off at Paddington Station. The
Heathrow Express is ten pounds but well worth it. Just a quarter hour to the
airport terminal. I checked in, shopped duty free, and went
home.
On the plane I was in the last row
and some bloke was talking to a very loud American woman from the lush concrete
heart of New Jersey. They were both on full volume. He leaned against my seat
and shook it as he gesticulated wildly. I slowly moved my chair back, then
forward. Then back. I repeated this until he got the hint and moved along. I am
so passive-aggressive. It makes for better
reading.
You know how you get home and
you're glad to be home and you're happy to have had time away? And then there's
a moment when all that zen-like calm is shattered? For Tony it's usually when
he's in a cab on Queens Boulevard and the cab driver, or one nearby, pulls up to
a red light and spits out the window. With
gusto.
For me it's usually customs. But
they are a lot less insane in Newark than at JFK. Bill Clinton's visage beamed
from a wall, with a large "How do I keep getting away with it all?" grin. But
the vacation sleepwalk for me ended on the queue for the bus, when the bus
company employee violently kicked my luggage, and everyone elses, into the cargo
hold of the bus. Not a shove or a tap. Violent kicks. And there was plenty of
room.
Because we don't have a train to
the plane, I took the bus to the cab. I got out near Grand Central and figured
it would be a very quick 30-block cabride home up Third Avenue. Nope. Saint
Paddy's Day traffic. It took me a half hour to get to the airport in London and
four times as long to get home
here.
Welcome home!
Posted: Wed - March 17, 1999 at 02:11 AM