A usually haphazard journey. Plane arrives half an hour late into LHR. Sitting near the front, I manage to get out quickly with all my luggage from the overheads, and pace quickly so that I'm second to passport control. Waltz in with no trouble at all, and with only a minor diversion around the back of a baggage carousel to avoid a troublemaker being pinned down by two police, am cleared through customs with the usual indifference into the UK proper in less than 15 minutes from deplaning. Check that, American border security.
Zoom to Heathrow express (or HEX to its friends), pick up a ticket, and get on the last train that fits my schedule with a minute to spare. End up at Lon Pad, collect my 10 quid single for Brstl Tmpl Mds, and even have time to pick up a sandwich from Boots, though chagrined that my selection does not somehow qualify for the meal deal. Relax, and try to ignore the pitiful whines of the old biddy who does not realize she is on the wrong train until the ticket collector informs her that this is the 12.00 to Bristol, not the 12.06 to Penzance. Wonder how someone can not only ignore all the platform signs, but also the repeated announcements over the intercom. Observe that she isn't even carrying the phone number of the person she is supposed to be meeting there, and decide that she clearly can't travel much if she was expecting no delays or reroutings.
Arrive BTM only 5 minutes late, see that the weather is more pleasant than I remember, and so decide to take bus instead of taxi. Debus about three stops sooner than I ought, but walk the rest of the way anyway. Arrive at hotel to discover that there was a bus stop right out front. Get to room, find it to be possibly the smallest hotel room I have ever stayed in, though am expectant that tomorrow's will beat it further. Slump, sleep. It's surprisingly good to be in England in June.
