Having arrived at the appropriate gate at Heathrow, I was kind of wondering if the fact that the multi-faith prayer centre was next to it was some sort of divine message about my impending flight? However I decided to forgo the opportunity to pray, in favour of getting Tiny Clanger to calm down and stop whooping and whistling in my backpack - a fairly risk laiden pastime in security conscious Heathrow.
Well arrived here comparatively intact, taking into account the crap coffee, numerous security checks, babies attempting to set a new Atlantic crossing crying record, the Russian whinging woman, the air hostesses with all the refined people skills of Hannibal Lecter and an air conditioning system that reduced me to wearing two blankets. But they that´s the price you pay to travel, twelve and a half hours of confinement in an airborne sardine can.
Arriving on Lexington Ave the temp is a fairly uncomfortable and very humid 82. On making my way to East 34th St, the alternative family home, I see Max my nephew approaching - he's been sent by my lovely sister to see if I need collecting from the bus stop. Senior moments, me? Haha.
