I.A.M. Musing About…

Landing at Heathrow with the requisite BUUMP-BUMMMMP followed by the screaming complaints of engines firing in a direction they have been determinedly avoiding for the past nine-and-a-half hours the thought enters one’s head what happens if they really are fed up with the suggestion that they do the opposite of what they want, and reject it? What happens then? What’s at the end of this runway? Is there another aircraft currently awaiting clearance that we’ll go smashing through? Will there be some sort of mid-air thing when we re-take-off in order to avoid running off the end of this runway?

This is the point that we realise either I worry too much or am afraid of flying. ‘Afraid’ is too strong a term; ‘concerned about flying’ is closer to the matter probably. There’s a great deal of reason to the argument that man has no place in the middle of the air with so much as a plinth beneath him. As Flanders & Swann put it, if God had meant us to fly, he would have never given us the Railways. Given BA’s area of Heathrow looking like an “used æroplane dealers’”, one gets the impression He is giving us a reminder. Then one is reminded of the National Rail strike potentially happening on Easter week-end and you wonder just how sadistic He’s getting.

So… gather bits and pieces, rummaging under the seat locate the blue-tooth thing for the mouse, re-organise bag in order to find everything better, shuffle toward door, notice that the Slovakian Paralympic team was also on the plane and I didn’t mention it, trudge through airport in seeming re-enactment of the Salt March (end goal to be rid of this building instead of un-fair taxation), and finally arrive at… the corridor outside the holding area for UK border clearance… oh my, this is going to take bloody… and suddenly we’re whooshing through the sorting between “UK & EU Passports Only” and “Other” and shooting through the little lanes toward the desks of those people given the power of letting us experience the finest level of civilization in the known world: ENGLAND!!

‘FROM THIS POINT IN THE QUEUE, YOU CAN EXPECT IT TO TAKE 20 MINUTES OR SO UNTIL YOU REACH THE CUSTOMS INSPECTOR”.

Ah. Right. I’ll just read my book then… which I don’t have with me. Thinking about it, there’s not a single book in my entire collection of travel belongings. How odd. I stand and become bored quickly.

Clear customs, get Oyster card, locate Heathrow 1,2,3 Platform for the Underground. An announcement about the un-scheduled service delays on several other tube lines is made, with the final statement that these are not delays to service on this line as “this is the Piccadilly Line, and we have a good service time.” He sounded a bit smug at the end, didn’t he?

Get on tube, chat to some young US College students who are visiting for the first time, give them advice about getting a copy of the A-Z, learn to leave the “0” on the front of a telephone number when calling someone here – never did work that one out before – and arrive at King’s Cross Underground Station, where one can “alight here for the Royal National Institute of the Blind”… that’s the best you can do for a tourist point? Oddly, our closest SkyTrain station at home is right next to the Canadian National Institute of the Blind headquarters, so it’s a bit of a pleasant co-incidence.

Leave the station via the loooooong, pointless exit taking me to Pentonville Road (seemed like a good idea at the time…) and erupt onto the LOUDEST STREET IN THE BLOODY WORLD! …I SAID, THIS IS THE LOUDEST STRE… hang on, I’ll type it out, it’ll be easier.

Get money from machine, head to café for Best Coffee Ever Made in History (or so it felt like at this point), locate phone box, and call Christopher Fowler whilst staring at an array of mad adverts for all sorts of ‘unique’ services done by – mostly – women to – mostly-men. That’s not based on the average of the ads over-all, but the average of any one individual involved. There was one which consisted simply of a bit of paper with a phone number and the word “Transvestite” written on it in black marker. Nothing else, just that. Is this someone offering the services of a transvestite, should you require one for after-dinner entertainment? Is this an advert akin to “if you’re a transvestite, then call this number…” and, if so, what sort of products are they hawking through this niche-market sales technique? Seems a bit hit-and-miss, to be honest.

Head to hotel, check-in, remind oneself that if you’re in a room on the first floor then yes you do need to use the lift as the floor at ground level ‘doesn’t count’ in England, hose self off, shave dress in non-filthy clothing, and head out to have dinner with Luke at local place which is the only vegan sushi house in Europe. It’s quite near the Travelodge King’s Cross Royal Scott and needs the trade. It’s quiet, the presentation is fantastic, and the service is incredible… unless you want the bill, in which case you have to file a request form in triplicate prior to it being prepared. They may have wanted to keep us there as long as possible just so that people walking by would see that people were actually eating there. We were their only customers.

Dash off to meet with Christopher at a pub… to find I was sufficiently late that he’d already left (his other party didn’t show either). He left a note at the bar, but the bartender didn’t pass it on and I didn’t ask “is there a message left here by a very nice man trying to meet-up with a loony Canadian person?”

Another phone call from the same box (all the adverts were gone now) and head to pub.

Much argy-bargy discussion of amusing things, he gives me copies of two of his books – signed and cartoon’ed – his mate joins us, more pints, much loud talking over the noise of the pub, they leave, I go to the loo, return to find my 75% full pint has been cleared away, decide that this is a sign, and return to hotel full of local warmth (and mild ale).

Back in London again! Hooray! I do so love this town and its people!

This entry was posted on Tuesday, March 23rd, 2010 at 11:55 pm and is filed under BLOG-O-RAMA, books, horror, LIT-O-RAMA. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.