Eating all that paper. Not the best preparation for a flight back to America. Customs. Fully to the fore. What if they do what they did to Kailand?! But I’m legal, fully, I have a visa! I know, calm down, it’s just you might get a guy who’s having a bad day and he could screw you over somehow. But I have a visa, I’m all good! Well we didn’t even think what happened to Kailand could have possibly happened and you know how well that went! Oh balls. Me bowels. Durchfall. At least I was in business class. Paranoid but comfortable. Always key. Although I do need the bathroom.
Wait. Spot a guy on the other side waiting too. Obligatory nod hello. Ignores me. Nice. Standing. Wishing. Thinking. Waiting. Did I ever Continue Reading »
What do you call a ponder pipe that just lays around all day? Mopey Dick. Badum. My first day in London, I was moping like no other. Woke up early. Phoned the prison. Spoke to Kailand. Told me her news – “They keep giving us bananas and milk for meals, I’m hooked on the milk.” Slurp. Filled her in on my news – US Embassy said there’s nothing they can do, magistrates decision so just have to sort it out when you get home. Some dose. Slurp. Kailand is upset. But still. Her spirits are high. Night’s sleep always helps in fairness. Or else they were spiking the milk.
It was then realised that it must be hard to keep conversations flowing with people in prison. Both had filled the other in in detail what had happened since we saw each other last (about 24 hours ago). After that, our news seemed insignificant or non-existence. I’d phone back and Kailand would tell me she had a nice non-English speaking conversation with an Indian woman about milk. I’d inform Kailand that the hotel room was nice but all the TV stations seemed to be showing was the Big Bang Theory. Then Kailand had to go to get more milk. I’d phone back. Find out if the milk was really cold or room temperature. Called off again to go brush her teeth if she wanted to. Phone back again and then… I was told Kailand had been taken away. Being brought back to the airport. Put on a flight. Which flight? Wouldn’t tell me? What time? Hung up on me. Dose. Wouldn’t speak to Kailand about milk again until she was back in L.A, eating some Thanksgiving turkey and egg nog. So that was a balls. Continue Reading »
Cab’s outside. My clothes are still wet. What. The. Funk. Dryer mysteriously died the night before. Damp garments strewn all over my abode. Dry, funkers, dry!! Need to pack you, you and you. Need ye all for my trip to London. Vital I have that white t-shirt and that white t-shirt and that pair of socks, vita– Actually. I’ve over packed as is, so, I, don’t. Ha. Cab man’s beeping. Com-ing! And out the door I go. Flustered little whure. Still on time. Just leaving packing until the very last minute. But. Not to worry. On the road! Just swing by Kailand’s house. Swoop her up. My mighty London trip partner in crime. Honk honk. Out comes Kailand and her smaller suitcase up. How is hers smaller than mine? Maybe a more ergonomical packer? Is ergonomical even a word? Who knows, who cares, I’m sweating, lugging luggage, my top’s now off, panting in the back off the mini bus, Jesus, L.A is hot today, and now we are actually on our way. Off to England for a spot of tea and crumpets. LonDumb, here we… Ahem.
Check in. Air New Zealand. Bumped up. Premium. Oh Betsy. Mighty. Notice Mischa Barton checking in one ahead. Moving up to the C-List of the world. Security. Sandwich. Wait. Board. Dancing. Suss out our seats. Appears we have done well. Premium means pod. As in instead of a cramped row of seats in the mule class behind, we are now swimming in space in a pod like container. Buckets of room. Kind of like First Class. But just not quite. Still. Pod class all the way. Flying like winners across the Atlantic. Mighty. Highly recommended!