I woke up on board a 747. Once I’d remembered why, I looked at my watch, and estimated we were an hour or two from landing. I took a drink of water. Soon the BA flight attendants started bringing in breakfast, and I gently prodded the spouse awake. Against all probability, I had managed to get 2 or 3 hours of pretty decent sleep onboard an airplane. Soon we landed at Heathrow Terminal 4.
The trouble with being a goth is, you can’t be a goth at a seaside resort like Bournemouth. It just looks silly. Trust me on this. I notice stupidity is being imported from America. I saw a letter in The Guardian where the author, apparently serious, refered to himself as an “African-Briton”. Speaking of which, when did The Guardian start carrying ads for phone sex lines and hot bi action?!
England seemed much more bearable this time. I think there were several reasons for this. Firstly, now that my family have all up and moved to Bournemouth, there are actually things to do when I’m visiting. About the only thing worth doing in Hyde Heath was getting a lift to Amersham station and a train to London. The second thing is that it was summer, which means the rain was slightly less frequent and it was pleasantly warm.