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!
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