Are You Alright, Mum?

7.25 a.m. Thanksgiving in America.
Good morning, London. I saw you in your golden, glittering beauty as we touched down just before the crack of dawn. Now here we are in the pink morning sunlight waiting to shift gears once more. 3,669 miles down, 6,000 to go. First I'll have to get me a cuppa tea.

Alan Carr (is that his name?) is a funny guy. This flamboyantly gay stand up comedian from Manchester kept me reasonably entertained on my flight (on video, of course). Once I figured out his accent, I giggled all the way over the Atlantic stopping only to silently scorn the man in front of me who embarked on a deep, deep dig into his ears. Once the treasure was found (and by the look of it there was much to be had), he generously sprinkled it along the aisle. Back to less obnoxious gestures though, Carr mocked the sporting skills (or lack thereof) of his countrymen reminding his audience of the token Ethiopian runner who beats everyone in the Olympics while the Brit contestant can be spotted stumbling along with an egg in a spoon. Funnier when Carr said it, but funny still.

There's something to be said for Heathrow airport. It's all jazzed up even at 7 a.m. The strange thing has always been the sudden demographic shift from the flight to LHR. More Indians than ever before all speaking in incredibly thick Brit accents. I suppose I can relate -- I have one prepared without ever having lived here ready to be whipped out for just such ocassions.

It's 2 a.m. my time and I really should be asleep.

O&O,
~D

1.34 p.m. Nov 27, Eid.
Home.