The Night Before the Morning After

By the time I upload this I will probably be sitting in a Gatwick Airport departure lounge. (EDIT - wrong, I am in a hostel in Shanghai)



This was my last full day in the UK before I head off to China – I barely slept last night, what with packing until about 0230, there’s always going to be that little extra something you could have taken, but for the sake of a year I really don’t think I’ve forgotten anything too important. The bare essentials – flight details, passport, money – are packed and anything that I’ve left behind can almost certainly be bought abroad if need be.



Following my late bedtime, I had the joy of an “early” morning – well, waking up at about 0830 is early enough when you’ve hardly slept. We left the house at 1120 and were at New Street surprisingly early (1130) which meant a full forty minutes before Lucy’s train departed. That was definitely the hardest part of the day, I think for both of us, but especially for her. Somewhat teary-eyed she drew further away from me as the train sped up – I hope if you are reading this now, kitten, that you are not crying so much! And that was that, I thought. Until I got upstairs from the platform and had to take a minute or two before seeing Mum to compose myself. But, like I keep telling myself, it’s only a year. Six months if she comes to visit in February.



Our train ride to London was uneventful, and once in the City we split up so I could see my grandmother by myself, and Mum could meet another relative. That took most of the afternoon, and by the time we reconvened in Victoria station I was knackered. Still, no point sleeping and feeling groggy on waking – better by far to stay awake until proper bedtime. With a little hassle (walking through Gatwick airport, changing terminals, getting a taxi) we made it to our B&B which is conveniently about a 6 minute ride from the airport … I suppose less convenient is its proximity to various flight paths. Still, I could sleep through an earthquake (apparently I already did). I have to say the booking-in process at this guesthouse was nothing short of bizarre. The woman who runs the show either takes heavy mind-altering medication, or has recently been lobotomised. Put simply, she does not make sense.



We arrived while another family were in the throes of booking themselves into their various rooms in this small guesthouse. Ten minutes later (after what one suspects was an undeniably long previous battle) the father of the family emerges triumphant with his lot’s keys. We enter the room, and there are another couple there – no problem, we’ll just wait our turn, it’s fine. The woman owning the joint had other ideas though – we were to go first, much to our embarrassment, after all the poor couple had sat there through the first family’s booking-in, and now ours. Oh dear. But before that even, the owner decided that any incoming phone calls took priority over her customers – surely a mixup in her brain where “customer service” was concerned? And she was quite, er, open on the phone as well (“Stop fucking ringing here”, and so on) – in front of us all, hardly what we expected, although I did want to laugh.



Finally, she got onto trying to book us in and blow me if her little brain wasn’t addled in some way or other. First she thought we were a foursome staying together. Then she got that it was two separate couples but couldn’t for the life of her work out which rooms we were to have (I think the issue of my Mum booking herself a twin room, and me a private separate room – not wanting to share particularly – confused the hell out of her). In the end she twigged it all, but the numbers on her booking sheet were all askew. She asked us if we wouldn’t mind putting down our car registration, and my Mum explained quite patiently that we didn’t have one. Finally she tried to write up the bill and wanted to give us an extra room despite us telling her several times not to include a third room because it wasn’t ours. By this point I was tempted to ask if she was retarded. Apparently it got better (I left then to move stuff upstairs) because Mum wanted the courtesy airport taxi – you get a voucher from her – booked for the morning, so there were no delays and no questions about it. According to Mum this woman thought we were trying to book a taxi for us and the other couple – despite the fact that we are two separate travelling pairs, and the rest of the people in the guesthouse, them included, are leaving at 0400! Oh, and she couldn’t get the other couple’s name right worth a damn.



It was bizarre.



We tried to get out to a pub for a meal after that, but the place was full, and I’m sure I’m correct when I say that in a pub, where people are seated at tables for their food (ie not eating at the bar), it is not the done thing to spy a four-seater table with two people at it and have the thought “oh right, it’s all about mucking in and getting on with it in a place like this, we’ll just go over there and sit on the end of that table where two people are happily having a conversation” … I protested strongly enough that we did not follow Mum’s ever-so-sensible-and-British-but-wholly-impractical idea, and instead wound up at a very nice Thai place. Mum was very pleased indeed, and a far better idea overall than eating at the pub.



I’m back at the guesthouse as I type this, the Wifi exists but the password doesn’t seem to be working, which is why I think I will be using Gatwick’s network tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll bother having a shower tonight, sweaty and disgusting as I may be, because I’ll only get ikky overnight. Up at about 0715 tomorrow morning, breakfast around 0800 and our taxi is apparently at 1000, which is ample time to try and at least get Mum online here before we leave for the airport.



Next update either from my stopover in Dubai or my arrival in Shanghai … Bon Voyage from me!

(EDIT - more on Shanghai and the story so far to follow soon. Turns out also that the woman from the hostel was not the owner and was also far more normal in the morning. Didn't stop her looking like what I imagine one of my ex-housemates would look like if he was a woman (*shudder*), and I don't suppose that helped.