Well here we go then. My time in the UK has finally come to an end. What have I learned? Not much probably, save that this country is a total rip off and I hate London. But I knew that anyway. Matters of the heart will be given some more time to settle before judgement is called on my decision to return. Only in the coming months will I know if it was a wise idea, but then again; you should have no regrets. Except maybe for the time I pee’d my pants at a motorway Happy Eater circa 1985. Someone still has the pictures.
On the morrow I fly to Estonia. Now I’m trying to be upbeat regarding the word “fly”, and I’ve bored you all to tears already banging on about my deeply ingrained fear; but I’m sorry – those fucking things are not meant to be up in the air. Sitting in beer gardens on the Heathrow flight path hasn’t done me any favours. You can read the writing on the damn undercarriage. Hopefully this will be the last flight I ever tak…no wait…take in a long time. Jesus. Nearly jinxed it.
And yet there is still the fleeting hope of a movie scene reprieve. That moment when (usually a boy, but this time a girl) barely makes it to the airport in time to stop the guy from leaving. Hurdling bags and knocking over grannies, she tearfully apologies for her stupidity, begs him not to board, and stammers her glaring error in letting him go in the first place. Alas, dear readers, no such scene will take place, and our young hero will have no choice but to buckle into his seat, glance wistfully out the port window, and with a solitary tear rolling down his cheek, contemplate what might have been; before the onset of his impending doom at 38,000 feet. Ain’t life a bitch.
So once again one door closes and another opens. This time tomorrow I should be in the Estonian capital of Tallinn, and I’ll be doing my best to immerse myself once again in the thrill of adventure. No doubt such exploits will come to the aid of my rather wounded heart, especially when I’m surrounded by a load of Estonian chicks who look like Rivendell extras. But you know I’m only joking right?
Getting back on the road
Well here we go then. My time in the UK has finally come to an end. What have I learned? Not much probably, save that this country is a total rip off and I hate London. But I knew that anyway. Matters of the heart will be given some more time to settle before judgement is called on my decision to return. Only in the coming months will I know if it was a wise idea, but then again; you should have no regrets. Except maybe for the time I pee’d my pants at a motorway Happy Eater circa 1985. Someone still has the pictures.
On the morrow I fly to Estonia. Now I’m trying to be upbeat regarding the word “fly”, and I’ve bored you all to tears already banging on about my deeply ingrained fear; but I’m sorry – those fucking things are not meant to be up in the air. Sitting in beer gardens on the Heathrow flight path hasn’t done me any favours. You can read the writing on the damn undercarriage. Hopefully this will be the last flight I ever tak…no wait…take in a long time. Jesus. Nearly jinxed it.
And yet there is still the fleeting hope of a movie scene reprieve. That moment when (usually a boy, but this time a girl) barely makes it to the airport in time to stop the guy from leaving. Hurdling bags and knocking over grannies, she tearfully apologies for her stupidity, begs him not to board, and stammers her glaring error in letting him go in the first place. Alas, dear readers, no such scene will take place, and our young hero will have no choice but to buckle into his seat, glance wistfully out the port window, and with a solitary tear rolling down his cheek, contemplate what might have been; before the onset of his impending doom at 38,000 feet. Ain’t life a bitch.
So once again one door closes and another opens. This time tomorrow I should be in the Estonian capital of Tallinn, and I’ll be doing my best to immerse myself once again in the thrill of adventure. No doubt such exploits will come to the aid of my rather wounded heart, especially when I’m surrounded by a load of Estonian chicks who look like Rivendell extras. But you know I’m only joking right?