LOOK OUT! CANADIANS!
Beware, London, for two of the finest human beings Canada has to offer have been unleashed upon your filthy streets with a stated aim of painting them maple-leaf red. With a bullet.
My BF and her esteemed husband Dangle arrived in London around 5.00pm on Wednesday…which was odd, seeing as they were scheduled to land at 10.00am. By the time they called I’d been fretting all day, imagining them being subjected to all sorts of creative murdering; but as it turned out, instead of being murdered (a relatively quick process in most instances) they’d in fact been subjected to a SEVEN-HOUR delay during a stopover in Halifax (in ECONOMY CLASS – the horror!), during which they were not fed, entertained, or permitted to leave the plane. That’s enough to make anyone dream fondly of being stabbed in the throat. All my shitty travel experiences (even Hamburg!) have paled to trite insignificance in the face of this. Yuckeroo.
And then, yesterday, SiC’s plane was delayed on his way back from Edinburgh on my one day to see him before he jets off to Spain for the weekend to get tanned or gored by bulls or whatever it is one does in Spain. Why is air travel being so shitty to my favourite people this week?
AND, on top of everything else, I’ve developed a cold sore so massive that it looks and feels as though I’ve grown an extra appendage out of my face; except instead of being a useful, beer-grasping sort of appendage, it just squats there all pus-filled and malignant, frightening small children and plotting world domination. (You know, I think ‘pus’ is the single most disgusting word in the English language.) I’m going to stop talking about this now because I fear I will anger the evil entity that dwells upon my face. And also, ew.
Moving on. I’ve been dutifully helping BF and Dangle recover from their flight on Guantanamo Airlines by pumping them full of revitalising alcoholic beverages. On Wednesday BF walked into the door on her way out of the pub, and last night we nearly got in a fight with some belligerent asstard sitting at our table. Who says Canadians don’t know how to have a good time?