I landed at Gatwick at a very brisk 6:40 am GMT, which is my usual bedtime in the US. But vomiting on the plane sort of woke me up for a whole new day. I immediately exchanged some money for a disastrous exchange and commission. Yes, I know you are not supposed to exchange money at the first counter you see in the airport, but I already broke the first law of travel and had the fish dinner, didn't I? The bloke behind the counter was very friendly, very cute, and very blond, in that order. I had ten pounds on me from my last trip, but I really felt like I needed some more cash than that. He had one of those infectious smiles that made doing anything he might suggest compulsory.
Britain is a very expensive place. The only things you can get cheaper in the UK than you can get in the US are books, theatre, and Body Shop products. The first thing I do whenever I go to Britain is rush to a news agent and buy the Guardian, Time Out London, and the Gay Times. I wasn't able to find the latter at WH Smith, but I the other two and caught the shuttle bus to the Russ Hill Hotel.
I have to admit that I feel a lot more comfortable when I go by mass transit and when I'm in a city. The odd thing, and wonderful thing, about Britain is that once you are out of the city, you are in the country. Not like in NYC, when you leave the city, and 12 miles out you still see concrete everywhere. I sort of like the country, as long as I don't get a flat tire and stuck in the mud, etc. With my luck I would be killed by a charming drifter, a Joseph Fiennes look-a-like, and an inspector who looks like Helen Mirren would have to identify me based on my severed left foot. The bad toenail on the big toe would tell her all the vital details. "American. Ponce. Needs editing."
The Russ Hill Hotel is somewhere between Gatwick and our British office, and I still am not quite sure where all that is, just that all three are south of London. I checked in eventually (desk clerk was a bit addled), and I took a delightful bath. Then I watched bloody morning and bloody mid-morning television programmes. First there was Kilroy, with the searing topic "Do you love your pets more than your children?" A multi-culti audience was on hand, some of them with pets. A Nepalese woman with a parrot declared, "I feel as if I sat on her egg!" Indeed. Actually, I know how she feels. Then there was a game show called Wipeout that featured three contestants, including the stupidest man in Yorkshire. Honestly, I knew more about English history that he did. Those prizes are rightfully mine. Then there was Vanessa. She's a Rikki Lake wannabee, before the weight loss. Of course, she did some make-overs, just in time for Mothering Sunday (for some reason their Mothers' Day is tied to Lent, not Hallmark). She was also pushing for people not to smoke. They have a national no-smoking day around this time. That may or may not be tied to Lent.
At 11 I had re-packed, cleaned the vomit off my boots with the complimentary shoe-cleaning sponge, and met Gary in the lobby. The desk clerk still looked very addled. Maybe she doesn't realize it's 1999 since the mailbox in the hotel entry still has Queen Victoria's insignia on it. She died 98 years ago. Get over it.
Our British office is in Newdigate. Our British office is next to a working farm's pasture. Sometimes horses come by and say hello to Jane when she's on the phone with our office. When you look out of her office you see a lovely green field. When you look out of the window of our third-floor offices, you can see garbage flying by. Sometimes the homeless amble by and say hello when we go outside to smoke. So far the disastrous exchange rate is still worth it for this.
I met briefly with Kev. He is the art director for our UK publication. He immediately gave me some proofs to proofread. Kevin is the tallest man in our company, and as such I do whatever he says.
Jane came out of her meeting at an opportune time. That time, of course, was lunchtime. We went to a lovely pub in the middle of nowhere. I had sausage with bubble and squeak. Jolly good stuff, that. Kirsty and Gary and Kevin came along to lunch as well. Kirsty is a wonder. She clears away all the muck and bullets, as Jane says, and makes a lot of things happen. When I cast the movie about our company, Jane Seymour will play Kirsty. Judi Dench will play Jane. Who will play me?
By 2 pm GMT I realize it is now 9 am EST and I have not slept since the night before and I start getting droopy. Dani agrees that it might be a good idea to stroll in to town and get some fresh air. I do just that. In town there are exactly two stores. I buy two items and in my change I get a two-pound coin made of two metals that features two colors.
Somewhat re-invigorated, I get back to proofreading. I call the New York office to brag that for once I am five hours closer to leaving the office than they are. I get the gossip. All of it frighteningly hilarious. None of it repeatable here.
Gary dropped me off at Dorking (Deepdene) and I took the train to Reading. Trains are expensive in the UK. It cost 9 pounds 50 to take the train to Reading. I slept a bit en route. I took a cab to the Holiday Inn in Reading. Sounds a bit too American, huh?
The Holiday Inn was very American. Big rooms with drinking glasses everywhere. Complimentary mints on pillow (consumed immediately). Complimentary beverages (consumed immediately). Complimentary slippers (too ugly to steal).
I wandered out into the night to find my beloved Gay Times. I went to the petrol station across the street and while they had Attitude (not attitude), they didn't have the Gay Times. They didn't know what the Gay Times even was. I don't even think they knew what gay was. They were immigrants and they only thing they seemed to understand was the price markings on the products.
Attitude is a gay magazine with almost no content or interest for anyone over 21. Last year A, when he lived in Longwall Green, told me how two gay men owned a news agent store and that "they even had attitude." I wondered why anyone would shop there. I eventually figured out that it was a magazine.
I wandered up and down the high street and looked for the Gay Times until I found it. I went to three stores. One Mom in a mom-and-pop store was almost horrified when I asked for the Gay Times. I also try to buy a BT phone) card. Even one of the stores that had the "BT card sold here" sign didn't always have them. They did have something called the Taj Mahal card, which I declined. I did accumulate a lot of chocolate along the way. Every British business except the post office seems to sell chocolate. Everyone knows British chocolate is better than the waxy American stuff.
I had dinner with David, and Jane joined us later for coffee and a pudding. For some reason cakes are called pudding. I don't know what they call pudding. I like pudding more than cake.
I finally went to sleep at about 11 pm GMT
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