That said, this journey will be brought to you by...RedBull. It gives me wings. Really. Because the only time I drink the disgusting concoction is when I've done my traditional 'don't sleep much the night before travel to be a submissive zombie through all the airport rubbish and sleep on the plane' technique. So, when I drink RedBull, it's to fly - yay wings.
I now have to walk home from campus, gather all my shite, catch the bus into Reading, buy a RailAir ticket, take one of the RailAir coaches (run every 20 minutes) to Terminal 3 Heathrow, check in my luggage and try to convince people my uke bag is also my purse, get through dratted security, sit on my arse for 3+ hours, board a plane, turn on my iPod, zonk the frak out and wake up in my beloved Massachusetts to see my beautiful and bizarre family.
There we go. My day's itinerary. This entry is pretty much for my mother, so she knows that at this point (10am UK, 5am US) I am not yet dead. Hopefully I won't be until around this time about 6 decades from now - although I would much prefer to die on my birthday at some hour that is not too early for me to be living...7 o'clock in the evening or something.
Icon: I am flying over rainbows. I will not be singing. I will be snoring.