Monday, November 1, 2010

Easter in Hell

We spent Good Friday, due to poor planning, touring Edinburgh castle. Imagine visiting Disneyland on Mother's Day. We boarded our flight to London the next day and landed in Heathrow on Saturday. Heathrow is a MAJOR airport and one of the two largest in England. And interesting note: the population of England seems to be getting younger, as the population of America ages. I have not seen that many children in a very long time. And they were all of an age to be in strollers, or drooling, which made it that much more fun. The key to this adventure was that we were flying from London to Dulles on Virgin Airlines after British Airways flew us from Edinburgh to London.

Virgin Airlines has this silly, stupid rule that one must be ON THE PLANE one hour before takeoff. Not standing in line, not waiting for the stewardess to call your row, not walking down the plank, but seated and munching some peanuts. So we missed the flight for Dulles. And Virgin couldn't have cared less about our travel much for that.

However, British Airways did. Because we bitched a lot and the stunningly handsome guy behind the counter liked Marc's jokes. (No comment) So they put us up for the night at an airport hotel. We thought, "No problem, a bonus night in London!" Only we were an $80 taxi ride from 'downtown'.

We had these tiny bags of essentials, like toothpaste, razors, etc., but not my medicines and we had been in the same clothes for 3 days. Out of a sheer sense of outrage, we went to the gift shop at the hotel, and I bought a bikini made from a British flag as alternate wear. It was that, or men's underwear, same design. No t-shirts, no sweats, nothing present that crowds an American airport for wearing apparel. Just bathing suits. Marc, of course, just bought Megan a bear.

Parading around the hotel room in a bikini in front of my brother was not the funnest thing I have ever done, but it was CLEAN. It was that or a sheet. My jeans were just too gross. Of course, I had to climb back into the jeans to eat, AT THE BAR, but what the hell.

Tomorrow: Easter Sunday in Washington D.C.        or How I Got Enlightenment In Just One Lifetime

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