*TMF user be warned! LONG blog post coming up*
So, I've been back for a day or so, and I've spent some time reflecting on this past week, and how it's gone. I chose to write a blog rather than a thread for a number of reasons. I have a lot to write about - as I have a lot to write down. And rather than post a thread which is tl;dr, posting a blog allows you all to view it at your leisure.
So, here goes nothing...
Sunday, 8pm. Quite apart from being one of my favourite albums, it was around this time that I said goodbye to my housemates, and walked to the train station. Full of apprehension and barbeque I trudge up hill and down dale, and leave the fair city of Nottingham an hour later on the London St Pancras express, arriving in the capital after about 2 hours.
I have a long journey ahead of me. The cheapest flights I could find leave in the early morning on Monday, and there are no trains at that time. So I arrive at London Gatwick in the early hours of the morning, around 1am. If you saw me passed out on the floor of the departure lounge, surrounded by juggling equipment and encased assorted items of clothing in a vain attempt to keep warm, you've seen me at my hippiest.
Monday, 5am. Awaking from pitifully few hours of sleep, interspersed with smoking breaks, and teaching sleepy hippies to juggle, I meander upstairs to check my baggage in. Eyes halfway down my face, I'm spotted by one of the attendants for Delta Airlines, who was ever so sweet and helped me check in without making any mistakes. After thanking her dropping my suitcase off, I wander aimlessly around the departure lounge, passing the time by working on my 4-ball fountain, and reading Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie (if you've never read it, I'd seriously reccomend it).
Monday 9am. After passing through security, amidst much boredom and queuing (we British sure know how to form lines), I wander towards the middle of duty-free to see what gate my plane left from. Turns out that my flight had been delayed. By two hours. And there is no way I can go back out and smoke. More sitting and waiting. Some contact juggling. A coffee. The reason why I hate airports. The waiting.
My flight leaves at midday! Finally! I'm sitting on my own at a window seat. I love to look out while I'm flying, I find being suspended 35000 feet above the ground almost theraputic, provided I can actually see where I am. Over the hours, I look out of my little porthole and stare as we pass the Emerald Isle, cross the vast Atlantic and her icebergs, fly over Newfoundland, Boston, and what feels like the rest of the Northwestern United States. You guys are a lot more...spread out than we are, and it's easy to see from 10 kilometres up.
Bad Sleep. Bad Food. Bad films. Flying is good fun, but it's the waiting that gets to me. The anticipation.
4 hours to go...3 hours...2...1...and I'm in Cincinatti. No problems getting through immigration whatsoever, although I hesitate a little when asked as to why it was that I was coming to the US (O hai, yush, I'm going to the largest tickling fetishism gathering in the world. It's superawesome!) - even I'm not that cocky. 😎
It's about 80 degrees in the shade. And sunny. Makes a change from the rain and the cold that I left behind. A smoke sets me right - 10 hours without and feeling crabby on the flight confirms to me that I am indeed an addict.
I phone Gin while I'm waiting for my flight to Louisville. Talking to her put a rather large smile on my face. Even at this point, I still feel kind of awestruck and nervous - this was my first time flying out of the country without any of my friends or family going with me. I feel reckless, and impulsive. And it feels really fucking good.
My flight to Louisville leaves an hour later. I interact with a fair few more people on this flight, despite it only being 15 minutes long - I'm literally only flying across the Ohio river. The guy I'm sitting next to compliments me on my balls, which throws me for a second until I realise he's probably talking about my juggling paraphernalia. Probably.
Touchdown at around 5.30pm, central time. Unease begins to kick in. I thought for some reason that I would be the cool, calm and collected gentleman that I am on the forum, in real life. Not so. Through no concious effort, I have become a bundle of nerves. After phoning Gin and letting her know that I've arrived. I settle down to watch, and wait. And try to breathe normally.
As I mentioned before, it's the waiting that gets to me.
TBC, at some point. When I get round to it. If I do. Which I probably will.
So, I've been back for a day or so, and I've spent some time reflecting on this past week, and how it's gone. I chose to write a blog rather than a thread for a number of reasons. I have a lot to write about - as I have a lot to write down. And rather than post a thread which is tl;dr, posting a blog allows you all to view it at your leisure.
So, here goes nothing...
Sunday, 8pm. Quite apart from being one of my favourite albums, it was around this time that I said goodbye to my housemates, and walked to the train station. Full of apprehension and barbeque I trudge up hill and down dale, and leave the fair city of Nottingham an hour later on the London St Pancras express, arriving in the capital after about 2 hours.
I have a long journey ahead of me. The cheapest flights I could find leave in the early morning on Monday, and there are no trains at that time. So I arrive at London Gatwick in the early hours of the morning, around 1am. If you saw me passed out on the floor of the departure lounge, surrounded by juggling equipment and encased assorted items of clothing in a vain attempt to keep warm, you've seen me at my hippiest.
Monday, 5am. Awaking from pitifully few hours of sleep, interspersed with smoking breaks, and teaching sleepy hippies to juggle, I meander upstairs to check my baggage in. Eyes halfway down my face, I'm spotted by one of the attendants for Delta Airlines, who was ever so sweet and helped me check in without making any mistakes. After thanking her dropping my suitcase off, I wander aimlessly around the departure lounge, passing the time by working on my 4-ball fountain, and reading Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie (if you've never read it, I'd seriously reccomend it).
Monday 9am. After passing through security, amidst much boredom and queuing (we British sure know how to form lines), I wander towards the middle of duty-free to see what gate my plane left from. Turns out that my flight had been delayed. By two hours. And there is no way I can go back out and smoke. More sitting and waiting. Some contact juggling. A coffee. The reason why I hate airports. The waiting.
My flight leaves at midday! Finally! I'm sitting on my own at a window seat. I love to look out while I'm flying, I find being suspended 35000 feet above the ground almost theraputic, provided I can actually see where I am. Over the hours, I look out of my little porthole and stare as we pass the Emerald Isle, cross the vast Atlantic and her icebergs, fly over Newfoundland, Boston, and what feels like the rest of the Northwestern United States. You guys are a lot more...spread out than we are, and it's easy to see from 10 kilometres up.
Bad Sleep. Bad Food. Bad films. Flying is good fun, but it's the waiting that gets to me. The anticipation.
4 hours to go...3 hours...2...1...and I'm in Cincinatti. No problems getting through immigration whatsoever, although I hesitate a little when asked as to why it was that I was coming to the US (O hai, yush, I'm going to the largest tickling fetishism gathering in the world. It's superawesome!) - even I'm not that cocky. 😎
It's about 80 degrees in the shade. And sunny. Makes a change from the rain and the cold that I left behind. A smoke sets me right - 10 hours without and feeling crabby on the flight confirms to me that I am indeed an addict.
I phone Gin while I'm waiting for my flight to Louisville. Talking to her put a rather large smile on my face. Even at this point, I still feel kind of awestruck and nervous - this was my first time flying out of the country without any of my friends or family going with me. I feel reckless, and impulsive. And it feels really fucking good.
My flight to Louisville leaves an hour later. I interact with a fair few more people on this flight, despite it only being 15 minutes long - I'm literally only flying across the Ohio river. The guy I'm sitting next to compliments me on my balls, which throws me for a second until I realise he's probably talking about my juggling paraphernalia. Probably.
Touchdown at around 5.30pm, central time. Unease begins to kick in. I thought for some reason that I would be the cool, calm and collected gentleman that I am on the forum, in real life. Not so. Through no concious effort, I have become a bundle of nerves. After phoning Gin and letting her know that I've arrived. I settle down to watch, and wait. And try to breathe normally.
As I mentioned before, it's the waiting that gets to me.
TBC, at some point. When I get round to it. If I do. Which I probably will.
