Two martinis in Anchorage then off to Seattle. Two big beers and a cheeseburger before the flight to London.
We sat in the way back next to the lavatory. Lots of action, lots of big asses bumping into Phil's shoulder. I slept quite well as is my custom on airplanes, until the dude in front of us began to vomit. Over and over he yakked into one airsickness bag after another.
Seven or so hours later, we touched down with death warmed over sitting in front of us. We jumped up and made a dash for it as soon as the fasten seat belt sign went off.
Customs went so smoothly that we both regretted not smuggling in something cool.
A former client of Phil's picked us up. We shoved our shitshow into Simon's sensible and fuel efficient car and headed to Bournemouth on the Southwest coast.
We heard two Brit teams were in the World Cup Finals and went to find a pub where we could watch their fans bash each other's heads in.
Does this happen everywhere?
1 day ago