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Old McOllie Had a Farm...
Jul. 21st, 2007 10:55 amMy plane left London at 9pm, Thursday night. It flew over the city, following the river; I kept an eye out for landmarks and was slightly freaked out to spot the National Theatre. I looked in the general direction of my old office, the places I used to hang out, miles below me. I imagined the building busy, productions into their second halves, people milling about the backstage area. It felt weird to know so much from so far away.
A Dutch Pippi Longstockings sat beside me. Her blonde hair was tied up in a matted mass, crowned with a pair of sunglasses. She ate far too much sugar for her own good, then flicked through a heart-throb magazine. After much jumping and shuffling on her seat, I gave in and paid her attention. She gave me the best and friendliest smile in the world.
The hotel in Amsterdam wasn't too far from the airport. The bedroom was white and cold, and the whole place reeked of marijuana. A plastic bag was wrapped around the fire detector. Flicked through the channels and was not surprised to find porn, in full throttle. Slept for six hours and caught a bus back to the airport at 7am.
This must be the third or fourth time I fly with KLM. They are never a disappointment. Very friendly service; unlimited amount of drinks (including alcohol) and snacks; plenty of films, TV shows and games to choose from your own personal screen; and a wide variety of newspapers to read from. I watched Zodiac (excellent) and Little Children (disappointing); I read from one of the three novels I bought at Heathrow. Did you know airports don't sell poetry?
My grandma had gnocchi and country chicken ready for dinner when I finally arrived at the farm. We sat shivering in the dining room until someone had the bright idea to sit by the fireplace, under blankets. My mom brewed some tea and, by 10.30pm, I was in bed. Woke up today at 5am to the valley's roosters and cows.
A Dutch Pippi Longstockings sat beside me. Her blonde hair was tied up in a matted mass, crowned with a pair of sunglasses. She ate far too much sugar for her own good, then flicked through a heart-throb magazine. After much jumping and shuffling on her seat, I gave in and paid her attention. She gave me the best and friendliest smile in the world.
The hotel in Amsterdam wasn't too far from the airport. The bedroom was white and cold, and the whole place reeked of marijuana. A plastic bag was wrapped around the fire detector. Flicked through the channels and was not surprised to find porn, in full throttle. Slept for six hours and caught a bus back to the airport at 7am.
This must be the third or fourth time I fly with KLM. They are never a disappointment. Very friendly service; unlimited amount of drinks (including alcohol) and snacks; plenty of films, TV shows and games to choose from your own personal screen; and a wide variety of newspapers to read from. I watched Zodiac (excellent) and Little Children (disappointing); I read from one of the three novels I bought at Heathrow. Did you know airports don't sell poetry?
My grandma had gnocchi and country chicken ready for dinner when I finally arrived at the farm. We sat shivering in the dining room until someone had the bright idea to sit by the fireplace, under blankets. My mom brewed some tea and, by 10.30pm, I was in bed. Woke up today at 5am to the valley's roosters and cows.
