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Back-dated England entry #1: Saturday
(Nothing particularly deep here, but if I don't start somewhere, I'll never get them done.)
I sat next to a very pleasant gentleman on the airplane ride over the Atlantic to Heathrow. He works on oil rigs, and though he was from north-western England (near Consett), his work had taken him to coastlines all over the place, including Nova Scotia (Canada) and the Ivory Coast. He had some fascinating first-hand (and second-hand) experience of international political situations. We talked about similarities and differences between Canada and England, about politics, about airline food (apparently Air France has the best everything--food, service, you name it), then I slept for about four or five hours, and then we went our separate ways.
Never got his name; I never seem to with people on planes. We can have the most friendly conversations, to the point where I feel I've really learnt something about the person or even taken a photograph of their child, but we never exchange names. Perhaps it's an unspoken acknowledgement of the fact that we'll never meet again.
I arrived at Heathrow groggy but grateful for the sleep I had gotten and made my bleary way through the airport, noting to myself that I really should take photos on the way back (which I didn't do). Luckily for me,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
soubrette was waiting for me in my direct line of vision; it might have taken me at least a minute to find her otherwise. We ate breakfast at Little Chef (both having, ironically, the "American Breakfast"), where I promptly spilled my tea and had to return to the counter for forgotten items at least three times. A mad dash to and from the lavatory later, I had joined soubrette on the coach to Cambridge.
On my first day in Cambridge, I ate Pret sandwiches on Jesus Green withsoubrette and womble2 while feeling the coldest I think I felt the entire time. Not realizing how penetrating a damp cold can be nor how quickly the temperature could change, and being the I'm-used-to-20-below Canadian, I had not anticipated needing a sweater underneath my jacket; I knew better all the days after that.
I also had the pleasure of meetingplotinus, was carted along to Jordan's music shop, sight-read some music very badly at a bus stop, and ate the first of several lovely home cooked dinners back at "home". (It never fails to astonish me when people cook from scratch. It's just not something we do very often in my family.) I also learned that one says, "cheers," instead of "thanks," though I wasn't yet comfortable using it myself.
(Seesoubrette's entry about same day.)
I sat next to a very pleasant gentleman on the airplane ride over the Atlantic to Heathrow. He works on oil rigs, and though he was from north-western England (near Consett), his work had taken him to coastlines all over the place, including Nova Scotia (Canada) and the Ivory Coast. He had some fascinating first-hand (and second-hand) experience of international political situations. We talked about similarities and differences between Canada and England, about politics, about airline food (apparently Air France has the best everything--food, service, you name it), then I slept for about four or five hours, and then we went our separate ways.
Never got his name; I never seem to with people on planes. We can have the most friendly conversations, to the point where I feel I've really learnt something about the person or even taken a photograph of their child, but we never exchange names. Perhaps it's an unspoken acknowledgement of the fact that we'll never meet again.
I arrived at Heathrow groggy but grateful for the sleep I had gotten and made my bleary way through the airport, noting to myself that I really should take photos on the way back (which I didn't do). Luckily for me,
soubrette was waiting for me in my direct line of vision; it might have taken me at least a minute to find her otherwise. We ate breakfast at Little Chef (both having, ironically, the "American Breakfast"), where I promptly spilled my tea and had to return to the counter for forgotten items at least three times. A mad dash to and from the lavatory later, I had joined soubrette on the coach to Cambridge.On my first day in Cambridge, I ate Pret sandwiches on Jesus Green with
soubrette and womble2 while feeling the coldest I think I felt the entire time. Not realizing how penetrating a damp cold can be nor how quickly the temperature could change, and being the I'm-used-to-20-below Canadian, I had not anticipated needing a sweater underneath my jacket; I knew better all the days after that.I also had the pleasure of meeting
plotinus, was carted along to Jordan's music shop, sight-read some music very badly at a bus stop, and ate the first of several lovely home cooked dinners back at "home". (It never fails to astonish me when people cook from scratch. It's just not something we do very often in my family.) I also learned that one says, "cheers," instead of "thanks," though I wasn't yet comfortable using it myself.(See
soubrette's entry about same day.)