Arrival

Well, flying officially sucks.

I had thought, before getting on the plane, that travelling to London would be a great way to relax before arriving. Time to sit back, play some gameboy, catch up on my reading time, maybe have a tinsy tiny glass of airplane wine? It was going to be an awesome time.

It was not. Airplanes are tiny, cramped, sweaty, uncomfortable rockets of metal shooting through the sky. They were not meant to be, and are, without doubt, the textbook definition of playing with fire. Having said that, I did meet a funny American girl named Lily who helped me frustrate fellow passengers by giggling.

Following a somewhat rigorous and intimidating and wholly unnecessary customs check in LA, where I felt a little bit like a Mexican person trying to break through enemy lines somewhere near San Diego, we got back on a plane, and another 10-hours plane ride later, landed.

London, as always, is rad. The only thing I hadn’t anticipated was it being rad, and freezing cold. Sadly, in addition to these things, it was also sans luggage. Turns out my collection of clothing and other awesome paraphernalia didn’t actually make it out of LA airport. So, like any other red-blooded Australian homosexual, I went shopping. (Don’t freak out Mum, I spent like, £20)

So now it’s 10:50am in Hendon, London, and I have to go open a bank account, get my computer checked, talk to my new bosses, get my luggage delivered, have some breakfast, fight some jetlag, read my book, do my washing, find a house and go see Wicked.

Awesome!?