The Flight to Gatwick was relatively uneventful, I read, and I slept. Strangely, for me, I slept lightly, waking with each passing in the isles, or dimming of the light. Landing in Gatwick I was greeted by traditional English weather... rain (in hindsight apparently I was graced the storms that mid to late July wrought on England.) The walk from the arrival gate to the terminal convinces me, we have landed in France and I must walk through the Chunnel.
After many hours of loitering, and getting a coffee that cost 1.70 pounds, I made my way to my connecting flight. As we queued at the gate, we were sent directly across the airport, as our gate had become blocked with an Air Portugal Flight. After a cross airport run, I boarded and was on the way.
As the last grasp of gravity was broken by the plane, I felt a great relief. All of my work and stress stayed below on the tarmac. I hope my stress can charter a flight home without me; I don't much care to share another plane with it.
Penned (with pencil) by my hand, July 3rd 2007, at the Ritrovo Ingrid, Stromboli, with Biera in the other)
Ps Erin wants gelato, so I wrote that fast.
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