I'm outta here

the taxi called up at 4am and me and my luggage went out the door. The taxi driver kept making conversation and I let him talk but I was just too tired to engage. It was so dark. A red sky in the distance lit the corners of the morning before the sun made any appearance. A sure sign of bad weather in my experience, and yes, the driver assured my snow was expected this weekend. U2’s ‘Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For’ came on the radio. I was dog tired, that was certain, but my sense of curiosity hadn’t deserted my sleep-deprived brain yet. I still had to document.

At the airport a young Ugandan woman was having serious problems with excess baggage. She was fortunate enough to be let off on this occasion and was able to pass through customs. Turned out she was a Christian, and she told me she’d prayed to be able to get through. She was an academic researcher and it was her books that had been weighing her down. She’d just been presenting a conference in the UK and was returning back home. Both she and I had long trips ahead – mine was just beginning. It was still very early in the morning, so we sat down and enjoyed a cup of coffee and shared some time together.   

Flight

Oscar Pestorius, Ugandan dictators. Nude conspiracies. It’s what I live for and it’s all here, fresh off the dispatch and hot to your laptop.

I have determined/ made it my mission to deliver you up-to-the-minute dispatches and whilst I work earnestly to avoid the sandwichy temptations the alluring Dutch flight attendants dole out (ooh, pumpernickel) I will acquaint you with the skyline that I saw this morning in Amsterdam, on my way to New York.

I have to stop for a moment and pause in admiration  of this humble Dutch sandwich  - it’s got a colonel’s secret recipe vibe to it. Who knew cheese and two slices of bread could sing like a canary? I’d better be careful here, I could see me eating like this the whole round trip.

There was evidence of the existence of this sandwich but unfortunately, I ate it.

I haven’t slept for two nights preparing for this trip. The undertaking was massive. I blame bass Paul Whelan for getting me here in the first place. He’s the one who convinced me going stateside was a good idea. I maybe should have consulted God a little more on this major decision, but I think he’s cool.

We’ve now been up in the air for a good 20 mins or so and we’re steamrolling over the UK. I can see the snow-capped mountains. I got home extra late from work today, after midnight, and there was just no point in putting my head down. All week I’d been making arrangements, and baked a cake to say goodbye to Sarah, our receptionist, who has had man troubles of the worst nature, hence the move to Manchester to live with her nan. I can’t say I blame her for wanting to get out of Leeds after what happened. So I baked her a cake. She’s broken up the Dream Team, and it’s not going to be the same without her. Wednesdays will be very very stange. I’ve still got Dream Teamer 1 Andrew, who I can sing stupid songs to and ask vital questions, like if a guy names Genesis as his favourite band is it a dealbreaker? Andrew used to be one fourth of one of those earnest hipster rock combos, and now works as a desk jockey for life. He’ll deny it though. He’s just got back from cycling to the Hebrides.

I have so many stories to tell I fear I’m going to miss a lot out. But there’s not much I can do about that. You’ll just have to take my word for it. Maybe my sins will find me out. Until then, I have but one inviolable need: to document everything.

Please keep reading.