Songs of innocence and of experience

I'm at LHR T4.

Butterflies?
Pterodactys.

I'm waiting at the gate -- due to take off at 15:00 and so I'll be offline for at least the next 8 or 9 hours.

Just spent the last little while with Cerra, with plenty of compersive (wider definition) frubbling (wider definition) going on. See you all later.

I went through the process of boarding without incident, and I was sat there in my seat minding my own business when the voice came over the tannoy "Would passenger Douglas Spencer please make himself known to the cabin crew."
I called an attendant and revealed my secret identity to her, ( Collapse )

The previous entry was the last in British time for the moment, and for the next two weeks I'm living -- and writing -- in what passes for local time here in Washington DC and its surroundings.
I don't mind flying. In fact, I like flying. But I don't like taking off much, and I'd forgotten how much I hate landing, how awful it makes me feel.
But I'm down safely on the ground where I belong.

Through immigration and customs all okay -- but the mobile phone doesn't work, so I'm calling 1(800)COLLECT for Greg and scarlatti to come and pick me up. Because I can't do this until I'm in the arrivals lounge, it means I'll have a long wait before I'm picked up.

Already I'm frustrated.