Saturday, July 7, 23.30 for the second time

Newark Travel Blog

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It seemed easy; I get on at Heathrow and off at Newark, NY. I leave my bag at Heathrow’s check in and pick it up at Newark’s baggage reclaim. I made it to baggage reclaim but my case, suits, shoes, socks, pants and possibly most importantly, my wash kit didn’t. After leaving details of where I would be found – officially my first night is not supposed to be ‘the lobby of La Guardia’ airport, it is not a residence, so I left the hotel address where, at some point I may end up – I had to jump in to a $100 taxi to get me through the midnight Manhattan and on to the disjointed connecting flight. Sleep had evaded me while on the plane. The Indian gentleman to my left found that after his Asian and Vegetarian meal it was easy to slip off; I realised this when in spite of deep ear canal rooting earphones, the deep vibrato of snoring, resonated through the seat. Although tame, the red wine was palatable, but not enough; barely touching my state, it seemed that one, two even three short plastic cup measures wouldn’t be enough. I was even given the chance – the lanky blonde only offered once, which I obviously could not decline.

Frustrated, it seems that everyone else on the plane slept: my non-talkative row-mate, the mother across the isle was out soon after her daughter’s head drooped, behind an elderly couple (at least appeared to be) slept, while in front a single mother clutched her sleeping baby who only woke a few times to get topped up on lactose. The occasional screen flickered dimly in the low level lighting cabin, the screen before me, in contrast was bright, the movie amusing. As I had been at college with the director of the film, I should have watched it earlier, but then I had found his first big film tiresome and, frankly, unfunny. I had assumed that this would be the same; same characters, same plot, just different costumes. How wrong I was, nearly. For its merits, there were some good lines in the film; not sure I can remember them, so they weren’t iconic, just amusing. So for one hour and fifty five minutes it had kept me entertained.

Although I can’t remember it, I saw another film. I wish I had slept.

Is ‘Virgin Air Stewardess’ an oxymoron?

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