Alright, I'm awake
Monday morning (I think). I'm fighting the urge to sleep, despite the fact that I managed to sleep for most of the night. I think we'll have to go out and get some sunlight and exercise before I crawl back into bed.
The flight over was uncomfortable, cramped and very, very long. Never again, Thomas Cook. It is an airline for smurfs, I've decided. The seats were perfect for them, but not for my husband, poor man. And I've never had a chicken dinner the size of a postage stamp before, but there's a first time for everything. Luckily, we brought snacks.
Oh, and everyone else had MUCH bigger hand luggage than the limit specified. If I weren't so tired, I'd be miffed.
I was fortunate to be seated next to an interesting gentleman who was traveling with his wife to his hometown in England for a wedding. He was a retired engineer who emigrated to Calgary in the early eighties for work, stepped off the plane, and then was immediately laid off due to the recession. Nice, huh? And yet, he stayed and weathered the storm. We chatted on and off about construction in the city, buildings, houses, learning to drive on the "wrong" side of the road, and wine holidays in Sonoma. We made fun of the flight attendants. We complained about the food. It made the journey bearable.
Then, we arrived at Gatwick, aka: what a mall in purgatory looks like.
I'd forgotten how loud and busy and bright Gatwick is. I'm sure it's all very exciting at the start of a journey, but it was like pushing pins into my eyeballs after a long, sleepless flight. We had to sit around for about three hours waiting for our gate to be announced.
Oh yeah, and I was also reminded that all immigration officials are pure bastards. If you are an immigration official, I'm sorry, but you are. You don't know it, but you were chosen to do this job because you really don't like people and you enjoy tripping them up after they've stepped off a long, overnight flight, bleary-eyed and confused. What a special talent to have.
I did manage to retain my crochet hook for this journey. At the start of the longer flight, I had ambitions of completing the entire project during the eight hours, but that was not to be. I did make a bit of headway, though, and, while lying awake last night for a few hours, I figured out exactly what I'd do with it - I think I'll make a little dinosaur applique and sew it on to the front. I'm not following the pattern at all, but it seems to be working out so far.
Oh, and my mother-in-law has alerted me to the fact that they sell wool in a shop in town. I may have to explore that later on this week.
Once I wake up, that is.
The flight over was uncomfortable, cramped and very, very long. Never again, Thomas Cook. It is an airline for smurfs, I've decided. The seats were perfect for them, but not for my husband, poor man. And I've never had a chicken dinner the size of a postage stamp before, but there's a first time for everything. Luckily, we brought snacks.Oh, and everyone else had MUCH bigger hand luggage than the limit specified. If I weren't so tired, I'd be miffed.
I was fortunate to be seated next to an interesting gentleman who was traveling with his wife to his hometown in England for a wedding. He was a retired engineer who emigrated to Calgary in the early eighties for work, stepped off the plane, and then was immediately laid off due to the recession. Nice, huh? And yet, he stayed and weathered the storm. We chatted on and off about construction in the city, buildings, houses, learning to drive on the "wrong" side of the road, and wine holidays in Sonoma. We made fun of the flight attendants. We complained about the food. It made the journey bearable.
Then, we arrived at Gatwick, aka: what a mall in purgatory looks like.
I'd forgotten how loud and busy and bright Gatwick is. I'm sure it's all very exciting at the start of a journey, but it was like pushing pins into my eyeballs after a long, sleepless flight. We had to sit around for about three hours waiting for our gate to be announced.Oh yeah, and I was also reminded that all immigration officials are pure bastards. If you are an immigration official, I'm sorry, but you are. You don't know it, but you were chosen to do this job because you really don't like people and you enjoy tripping them up after they've stepped off a long, overnight flight, bleary-eyed and confused. What a special talent to have.
I did manage to retain my crochet hook for this journey. At the start of the longer flight, I had ambitions of completing the entire project during the eight hours, but that was not to be. I did make a bit of headway, though, and, while lying awake last night for a few hours, I figured out exactly what I'd do with it - I think I'll make a little dinosaur applique and sew it on to the front. I'm not following the pattern at all, but it seems to be working out so far.
Oh, and my mother-in-law has alerted me to the fact that they sell wool in a shop in town. I may have to explore that later on this week.Once I wake up, that is.
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