So much to say about London, yet so little energy to say it now. The big souvenir I brought back, aside from a little "Keep Calm and Carry On" plaque, is a head cold the size of Westminster Abbey.
At least it came on the last day, so I didn't let it crimp things too much. In fact, my forbidding of the crimping probably made it worse -- a trek out to Windsor in the cold didn't help matters much, not to mention an evening Christmas lights walk in the cold drizzle.
And apparently they don't sell zinc in their pharmacies there. (They probably know it's bogus, but my immune system gets fooled every time.)
Anyway, it made for a tough plane ride home. I asked for an empty seat next to me so I wouldn't have to inflict my virus on someone else, but no such luck. (Unlike the flight out, which was less than half full -- I actually laid down for a while across three seats, though I didn't sleep. I stayed up a full 30 hours, and wasn't even that tired!)
So I went through three packs of kleenex and on the descent I felt like the guy in the vise scene in Casino, where Joe Pesci pops the dude's eyeballs out.
Think I'm going to get some soup, catch up on some Daily Show, and try, try, try to stay up 'til 10 (4 am London time). For some reason I always find the jet lag worse coming this direction. It usually takes several days to get over.
At least I'm home. Of course, within 15 minutes I rubbed my eyes blood red from the itching. Check off London and Alaska as two places where my allergies would be much, much better ...