Writing this from a “balmy and warm” day in London. Today hit 17 degrees and it’s a border line heatwave – for this time of year. And fair enough I guess, where two weeks ago it was absolutely horrible snowy weather. None the less it was winter as far as I was concerned. Oh how we are spoiled in the Land Down Under.
At Heathrow terminal #1 waiting for my flight to Reykjavik. I just got my roaming turned on my mobile and the first message I got was from 3 days ago from Marjolein telling me that there was a volcano that erupted in Iceland and flights were cancelled.
My blood went cold. Trust my luck, cancelling flights to Iceland. I quickly rang them up and found out it was “only a minor eruption” and flights are still going ahead. Awesome, they are putting up a lights show for me .
I got into Stansted last night (one of “London’s” satellite airports, I like to think of it as the Buzz Aldrin of London Airports). The hotel that I stayed in was nice enough. Simple humble abode. Most of all, it was warm, and had a bed. Thank God. After the shithouse flight I had I just wanted to sleep 8 hours straight. More on this in a moment.
The flight from KL to Stansted started of awesomely enough. I met a Finnish girl named Sanna in the boarding departure lounge. Very interesting girl. She spent 6 months abroad - travelling in Asia - drinking alcohol out of buckets apparently. I totally worked my SJB charm on her, and it worked. She didn’t talk to me the rest of the flight.
The flight itself was torturous, at best. My plan was to fall asleep and get my body clock in sync with Euro time. Pffft, try telling my body that. I probably got about 2 hours sleep whilst over Turkey, which was around 10 hours into the trip. There is only so much Dexter a man can watch on a plane.
When I got out of the plane it felt like the morning after a huge drinking binge, but without the blurred memories and vomit stained shoes. I looked around and took a fair amount of comfort in seeing that I wasn’t alone. It was like a plane that was casting extras for Zombieland pulled up and The Walking Dead were invading UK en masse.
Met Finn girl back at the baggage carousel and bid her farewell and a Happy Birthday. Haak, if you’re reading this. Yes I did and no I didn’t, cos I think it works the other way around on their birthday. Anyway, FIRETRUCK it was cold, back to winter in my eyes. Bleary eyed and pseudo-hung-over I ambled onto the coach to the hotel for a good night sleep.
Three hours. That’s how much sleep I got. Three hours. God damn circadian rhythms. Went to bed at 12 and woke up at 3am. Wide awake. Firetruck. So I did what any self respecting male would do at 3am. Yes, I watched BBC in anticipation for the budget that was being announced. Man that was boring after the third loop of the same news.
After being awake for 4 hours, I decided to go for a walk in the crisp morning air. My, was it crisp and biting. I saw a KFC and I instantly remembered “research” project. They sell BBQ’d beans you know. Alas, it was closed, however I will try those beans soon.
I reached Stansted for my connecting bus to Heathrow – when I started slightly panicking a little. I had got the wrong ND grad filter for my camera – it was a full grad, when I needed the half (I can hear Kevin rolling his eyes right now). So at this point I started sorely missing my mobile phone to get a the address and contacts of the nearest Dixons or Jessops. I bolted to the public phone and called Kev, my £1 got me about 15 seconds of talking time. This was more than enough time for me to give Kev my passwords and what he needs to do to call 3 Australia to enable roaming. All be it I didn’t take a breath.
After all this bullshit I ended up finding out that none of these fools stock this filter – really? Shithouse camera stores in Australia sell that $15 piece of plastic. Anyway, I hopped on the bus to Southall via Heathrow. The drive was pleasant – very grey and dull, but the grass was very green and was very much like Southern Otago. I guess the grass can only be that green if it rains all the time.
Hopped of at Heathrow and the bus terminal was very close to Southall. On the route that we travelled, everything looked like Postman Pat. Funnily enough, while I was thinking it a big truck with “Royal Mail” drove past. Aaaahhh the memories of P. Pat and his black and white cat.
Met Aunty, Arron and Dinesh for the first time – man it was good to see family. Even better, MAN WAS IT GOOD TO HAVE A HOME COOKED MEAL. I really needed that. After lunch, I decided to have a 30 minute nap.
Six hours later I woke up. Feeling slightly refreshed but also like I was about to go into cardiac arrest. I have learnt to ignore this feeling now, as I have been told its a muscle that is inflamed around my chest that gives the feeling like stabbing chest pains. Just need some Dr. Voltaren and it will be sweet.
I am writing this second half from the bus out of Reykjavic. I thought I am not going to spoil the fun of Iceland till the next post – cos man I feel I am going to have an absolute TONNE to write.
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