Naturally, the ticket office closed just before I got there. My feet hurt, and I am overwhelmed by the tales of fellow travelers as they tried like fuck to get home. Some of them have been at it since last Thursday. How they remain as calm as they do is beyond me. I am only 18 hours in. I managed to fly from Tripoli to Rome. It took one and a half hours. I have no right to complain. Twenty minutes ago I did get my hands on a ticket to Milan with not much hope of progressing further. I cannot begin to describe the excitement and sheer bliss of rail travel.
So I won't.
Of course, just as I head north into the "eye of the cloud", a decision is taken to open UK airspace again. Nothing to do with my safety, I hasten to add. No. The problem, the same as it ever was, concerns profits.
Trouble is, dear readers, this sudden openess of the skies is useless to me. The French, lazy, insolent bastards that they are, are enjoying the extra duvet time and will not declare their skies open until I have spent over a thousand Euros on my trip home.
Upside? Plenny of Italian wine, beer and a heaven sent new liquid that the locals call grappa. I am drinking it by the bucketload and have lost the sight in one eye. Everything south of my belt buckle refuses to function.
And I mean everything.
To cap it all, my fucking fly is broken. I did not bring any spare pantaloons. I now look like a drink-riddled international sexual deviant. Strangely, I couldn't give a shit.
If I DON'T get arrested for something it will be a fucking miracle.
Next report when I can steal some more bandwidth.
PS-your stained author was interviewed briefly on Italian telly. I would dearly love to have seen the subtitles they inserted for my words. Some examples: fuck, fucky, fuckingbastardsonsofwhores, cunty Icelandic twats, over-cautious fucking British Airways scum-sucking arseholes, workshy arrogant Italian train fucking worker bastard shits, Alitalia mongs with attitude fucking problems, yes! I am really fucking looking fucking forward to another eighteen fucking hours in your fucking country when I should only need fucking one to miss it enfuckingtirely you scabby, motherless cunts, and so on and so forth. Fade to reasonably happy looking Estonian chick with a fine pair of gams. (Who, I suspect, hoovered up the last stocks of meow meow).