Journey Back

[davidn]

Windows XP certainly looks different after a month away from it.

I didn't mention previously that just before leaving the US I had met with the mother of this journal, mercuryanna, again. She might have been my academic sister at one point, I think. We just wandered around Telegraph, and I felt slightly awkward because I felt I was only going on about St Andrews, which is still very much part of my life but a while ago for her, but I don't think she noticed. Until now, of course, because I've just written it. Oh well.

A couple of days later it was time to make the journey back. If the flight I took in to America was the best ever, this was certainly the most disappointing. To my surprise I was upgraded again, but not as far this time - only to Economy Plus, which is exactly the same as Economy but with perhaps an inch more seat and four inches more legroom.

Before the flight I wandered the airport in search of an adaptor to plug my laptop in on the aeroplane. The search was utterly fruitless, and I was told by the electronics store that "nowhere in the airport carries them". Am I alone in thinking that an airport might be one of the places where plane adaptors might be most in demand? He was right, though, and when I eventually got on to the plane after a huge queue at US-VISIT, I found that my seat didn't have the port that I had been told it would have anyway.

Last time there was a decent selection of films, but the entertainment booklet showed that there wasn't anything that I felt worth watching at all this time. Just before the start of the flight the entire programme was changed, unfortunately with an equally terrible set.

During the long flight, I took the opportunity to draw up a log in my notebook.

And after I'd done that, I wrote down a record of the flight as well.

30 minutes after departure time: We have completed the manoeuvre of Turning Round A Bit, but there is still no sign of other movement or getting airborne at all.

1 hour: Well, we've left the ground, at least. We're just going over the "F" of San Francisco on the map.

2 hours: Oddly enough, this beef meal actually tastes vaguely like beef. United Airlines and BMI seem to have pretty decent food.

2 hours 30: I bantered in German a bit with the Austrian steward. He said he understood me better in German than in English because "the Scottish accent is so comical". I didn't ask whether he was referring to me or the country in general.

3 hours: Now that I think about it, I'm sure those "lettuce" leaves were made of dandelions.

4 hours: We're now passing over what I would like to call "Ignorant America" - the bit in the middle where the population can't understand where the overhead planes are going and think that the edge of their country is the edge of the world. The Edge of the World - that's not a bad song title. I'll write it now, actually.

5 hours: I give up, I'm going to sleep.

6 hours: I've found that the best way of going to sleep in an economy seat is to put the table down in front of me, the pillow on the right edge of the table, and wedge my head between the pillow and the wall. It's by no means how I would choose to sleep normally, but it's an improvement on the ten-degree reclining chair.

7 hours: Stop making beeping noises at random, captain, it's not funny.

8 hours: Kamelot's "Soul Society" is rather great. I've listened to it about eight times now, though, and there isn't any sign of us landing.

9 hoursish, I don't care: We're above Ireland. I'd gladly just jump out and make my own way home if handed a parachute.

Something like 10 hours: Landed in London. Now to spend the next five hours looking for something to do.

And I spent most of that time performing laps of the airport with my hand baggage on a trolley. I was encumbered with a case of six bottles of wine from the Leader-Picones (now, I don't want to seem ungrateful for it, but "encumbered" is definitely the word - you should see the state of my hands) which made moving about without one very difficult indeed. I got fed up of the round trip eventually and bought a puzzle book from the newsagent, then checked myself in and went through security.

Thankfully, beyond security, I finally found a seat with a nearby wall socket. True, it was probably for airport staff use only, but I didn't really care at that point - I just put my luggage down, plugged it in and spent the three remaining hours playing Rise of the Triad.

When we eventually got on to the flight, the announcements from the pilot weren't very encouraging. "There have been some runway works having to be doing... er, done", he started, "and you'll probably have noticed we're at an international bus... terminal... because... um." I mentally christened him Dozy.

At seven in the evening, about the time when the plane was meant to be in Aberdeen, we were shown the usual demonstration ("Wrap it around yourself and pull the yellow tag... no, the red tag... I think" - everyone gripped their seats a bit tighter and made sure the safety belts were still working) we took off. The pilot talked about the view of London for a while before it vanished behind the clouds.

Not long at all afterwards, Dozy took us down in to Aberdeen and announced "The local time here is... well, it's the same as in the rest of Britain, actually" accompanied by laughter from the rest of the crew in the background. I got off as soon as possible, glad to be alive.

My bags, however, did not - they had somehow been left in London despite the plane being delayed an hour. I was surprised, though, with the speed at which they were found when I reported them, and they should be delivered today.

My dad and I left the airport in torrential rain - a fitting return to Scotland after the month of California heat. I then went to sleep at 10pm, interrupted only by the phone, the doorbell, my mother coming in, and then the phone again. And I still woke up at 4am. I'm going to have to get accustomed to get up this early if I'm going to be able to speak to Whitney this summer.

Comments

[e-to-the-ipi.livejournal.com]

Ah, I've missed your puns.