That's four hundred and eighty minutes
Of ear-popping altitude,
Sleeping with knees drawn up
And a pillow on the shoulder beside me,
Entering a time warp, like the Bermuda triangle
Or something to that effect.
Six hours ahead -
It was the crack of dawn and now it's afternoon.
We’re not in
Nor are we in Oz—
This is
And there’s no place like it,
According to Sweeney Todd.
It's not a bus, it's a coach.
It's not an elevator, it's a lift.
This lift doesn't take me to my floor, but this one does -
Very selective, aren't they?
They're so narrow, they're like clown cars -
How many can we fit in here?
And I am "that girl" -
The one with the massive luggage
That takes up the most space.
Thanks a lot, mom.
Dinner is Japanese tonight, chopsticks and all -
Londoners love their Asian food,
Judging from all the restaurants hailing from China, Japan, Thailand -
Don't take out, take away.
That's the phrase they use here -take away.
Off to the theatre, thankfully on foot,
Not at the mercy of London's traffic
With narrow streets and no mercy for pedestrians.
Double-decker buses never looked more lethal.
The show is Blood Brothers, a musical,
And boy, is it loud, echos of powerful voices,
And I am incredulous at the head bobbing beside me,
Though jetlag and sleep deprivation will do that to you.
It's my first taste of London theatre, and I want more.
But tomorrow's another day,
And though the room is small and the shower is claustrophobic,
I welcome bedtime in the hotel over bedtime on the plane.
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