From the email:
To be quite honest, I am sitting here in what could
be a set for one of the Ruth Rendell telemovies and I find myself waiting for
Inspector Wexford to knock on the door. My home for the next four days is very
cool; the top apartment in a terraced house in a series of tiny streets of curry
houses, pubs, terraced houses, pubs, long narrow picket-fenced cottage gardens and pubs.
But I'd have to say that it was the handy flight
plan on the TV on the plane that defined my journey. I found the only thing
that kept my mind off how very sad I was feeling about leaving everyone behind
for so long was watching the land over which I was flying. I really started
getting excited over the Caspian Sea and once we hit the Carpathians the flight
attendants would take turns to ask me to return to my seat because I had my
nose pressed against the glass of the exit windows. Over Germany the attendants
got REALLY shirty, there was a lot of turbulance but the sunrise was unreal.
The best part was actually about 30 minutes before we got into Singapore ... a
lightening storm above the cloud layer against the sunset ... spectacular.
Once into Heathrow I was interviewed by an
immigration officier who spent more time holding forth on the phenomenon of
Australian passports smelling of fish than asking me about my VISA. One
confused gentleman tried to make off with my luggage at the retrieval but I
managed to head him off and there was NO customs (hehe). I was waiting for
Monica in the lounge and I saw a Bobby, a Black Cab and a car rental agent
holding a sign for Mrs Primrose Taylor-Barrington. Welcome to England.
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