Wit under pressure
Finally found an only mildly thieiving internet cafe (£2 per hour), so I may finally update all my loyal readers (and you'd better be frantically checking this every hour to hear more news about my Glorious Adventure) about my Glorious Adeventure.
Monday morning: the plane from Los Angeles to Amsterdam. Am not quite sure that I slept on it. Tuesday: Arrived in Amsterdam early in the morning, whereupon I ran to catch a flight to London. The Amsterdam airport is BIG. It was there that I learned that, while the Virtue of Running is very well and good, its usefullness is far ourweighed by the Virtue or Crying Pitifully. The instructions I got from the EasyJet people, who directed me to the gate at the other end of the airport, were wrong, I found out. Ten minutes later, I found out that the instructions given to me by the helpful airport people, which directed me to a terminal halfway across the airport, were also wrong. It was then that I realized I had an hour and ten minutes before the plane left, and that the threatening notice the EasyJet people gave me warned that I had to check in an hour before the flight left, as they closed the check in *promptly* 40 minutes before the departure of the aircraft. I had no idea where to check in. I started crying pitifully. Fortunately, I did this in front of the information desk, where the helpful information lady gave me detailed directions and sympathy. Tried to follow map she gave me. Water-filled eyes not conducive to. Was bawling in front of the passport lane when passport guy took sympathy on me when I wailed for directions and let me through the line-less crew passport gate, thus saving me about ten minutes. Am pretty sure this would not have happened if I was not 1)female 2) attractive and 3)crying my eyes out.
Perhaps this was not quite the proper thing to do, but I must admit that it was enormously useful in getting me to the plane on time. Have noticed that it works better in Europe than in America, but cannot explain why.
Interesting airport note: They actually asked me whether I packed my own luggage. In America they don't bother and just rifle through it.
Anyway, later on Tuesday I went to the British Museum, whereupon I marveled at the idiocy of tourists who insist upon taking pictures of the Rosetta Stone, etc. Not of anyone standing next to the Stone, just the big hunk of rock that they can buy nice postcards of in the museum shop. In my opinion, this is a waste of both film and prime staring space, as they are always shooing everyone else out of their "perfect shot."
After a nap, I dragged myself to the British Library, conveniently across the street, and examined woefully inaccurate medieval maps, read private correspndence of famous literary figures, and discovered Jane Austen's handwriting was just as illegible as her contemperaries. Found bust of George III in ancient Greek regalia & thought he looked rather porky. Also found Thomas More's last letter to Henry VIII and read it with glee, reconfirming my opinion that anyone who writes something as tedious as Utopia deserves to be beheaded!
Next entry: what I actually did today.
Monday morning: the plane from Los Angeles to Amsterdam. Am not quite sure that I slept on it. Tuesday: Arrived in Amsterdam early in the morning, whereupon I ran to catch a flight to London. The Amsterdam airport is BIG. It was there that I learned that, while the Virtue of Running is very well and good, its usefullness is far ourweighed by the Virtue or Crying Pitifully. The instructions I got from the EasyJet people, who directed me to the gate at the other end of the airport, were wrong, I found out. Ten minutes later, I found out that the instructions given to me by the helpful airport people, which directed me to a terminal halfway across the airport, were also wrong. It was then that I realized I had an hour and ten minutes before the plane left, and that the threatening notice the EasyJet people gave me warned that I had to check in an hour before the flight left, as they closed the check in *promptly* 40 minutes before the departure of the aircraft. I had no idea where to check in. I started crying pitifully. Fortunately, I did this in front of the information desk, where the helpful information lady gave me detailed directions and sympathy. Tried to follow map she gave me. Water-filled eyes not conducive to. Was bawling in front of the passport lane when passport guy took sympathy on me when I wailed for directions and let me through the line-less crew passport gate, thus saving me about ten minutes. Am pretty sure this would not have happened if I was not 1)female 2) attractive and 3)crying my eyes out.
Perhaps this was not quite the proper thing to do, but I must admit that it was enormously useful in getting me to the plane on time. Have noticed that it works better in Europe than in America, but cannot explain why.
Interesting airport note: They actually asked me whether I packed my own luggage. In America they don't bother and just rifle through it.
Anyway, later on Tuesday I went to the British Museum, whereupon I marveled at the idiocy of tourists who insist upon taking pictures of the Rosetta Stone, etc. Not of anyone standing next to the Stone, just the big hunk of rock that they can buy nice postcards of in the museum shop. In my opinion, this is a waste of both film and prime staring space, as they are always shooing everyone else out of their "perfect shot."
After a nap, I dragged myself to the British Library, conveniently across the street, and examined woefully inaccurate medieval maps, read private correspndence of famous literary figures, and discovered Jane Austen's handwriting was just as illegible as her contemperaries. Found bust of George III in ancient Greek regalia & thought he looked rather porky. Also found Thomas More's last letter to Henry VIII and read it with glee, reconfirming my opinion that anyone who writes something as tedious as Utopia deserves to be beheaded!
Next entry: what I actually did today.