“Not the kind of journey you want to begin with a six hour delay”

Well, what kind of trip do you want to begin with a six hour delay dear Mr. Portly Londoner? Stupid comments aside, the 6 hour delay at terminal 3 wasn’t terminally bad. So I get to the airport at 10am, check in, go and lounge around in the departure hall for a couple of hours and eat half price waffles at Gelare.

The following is an exchange following bordering the first plane, while waiting for takeoff:
Stewardess: Excuse me sir, can I get you a drink?
Me: Bailey’s please
Stewardess: Hold on please

-5 minutes later-

Stewardess: Hands me Bailey’s, on the rocks

The following occurred on the second plane, with a different crew:
Stewardess: Excuse me sir, can I get you a drink?
Me: Bailey’s please
Stewardess: You know we only serve alcohol to those above 18 right? How old are you sir?
Me: mumblemumblemumble 18?
Stewardess: (gets me the drink)

So, I’m flying as an unaccompanied minor, and they’ve arranged transport to make up for the delay. So I talk to the cabin crew and they tell me everything is settled and I just need to go to the ground staff at Heathrow.

-8 hours later-

Stewardess: Excuse me sir, how old are you this year? Can I see your passport please?
Me: 16. (hands passport over)
Stewardess: You know, we’re only allowed to serve alcohol to those above 18? Earlier you requested for Bailey’s, yes?
Me: (Nuts.) Keeps quiet
Stewardess: You only had one, yes? How are you feeling?
Me: (Nuts. I should have sat at the aisle with the younger/less-experienced-looking stewardess.)

Moral of the story? If you’re going to get alcohol from SIA, don’t ask the cabin crew who look 10 years older than the rest.

So, 6 hour delays, 20 dollars compensation for lunch at the departure hall, plane changes, FUBAR-ed attempts to procure alcoholic drinks from SIA staff, old British ladies who take up spare seats that could be used to lie down on, midnight car trips through absurdly narrow and confusing London streets aside, it was an uneventful trip.

So I reach my brother’s place at 2 in the morning, and promptly fail to sleep 6 hours. Instead, I wind my body clock to it’s own peculiar rhythm (For which I’ll suffer tonight), and freeze my ass off. But the night is coldest before the dawn, and now it’s warm, warm, warm daytime (I can’t believe I just said that.)

Anyway, out I go soon, and in a couple of days I’ll leave the land of bad weather and lousy food for the land of where Bailey’s original Irish cream (should) be plentiful.

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