Anarchy in the UK
About a week ago I got back from my maiden voyage to the United Kingdom. I had the pleasure of eating lamb intestines and vomiting in a five star hotel. And as Julie Andrews would say, "Let's start at the beginning: a very good place to start."
I spent Sunday afternoon enjoying the Bar Mitzvah of Alex Marc (with a c) Goldstein at none other than the Manhattan Beach Jewish Center, but my unwanted advances towards one of the Goldstein nieces whom I've been trying to "dig" since the fifth grade (when her DD cups turned to E cups) were cut short, as I had to make my transcontinental flight (business class, natch) from one industrial wasteland (Newark, NJ, USA) to another (Glasgow, Scotland, UK). As most of my friends and family are aware, I am one of the worst airline passengers around. I must admit, my anxious nerves were somewhat subdued, as I did not (in typical Kerchner fashion) vomit on the way to the airport.
This is getting a bit long-winded, so let's cut straight to the UK. I headed straight for the office, and at eight o'clock UK time, I headed back to the nicest hotel in all of Glasgow, the Malmaison. I order the most expensive plate of fish and chips ever from room service, proceeded to throw all the linens from my bed onto the floor, and slept for the first time in the Old World.
My next day in Scotland consisted of some deep fat fried sheep by-products. I worked an entire day and slumbered, once again, in the Old World.
On Wednesday, I ate some deep fat fried haddock and flew to London on a second-rate carrier, whose landing seemed to frighten even the most seasoned travelers on the airline. I then spent 47 quid ($84) on a cab ride from Heathrow to Hotel Nobu. I forgot to get a receipt when I got out of the cab and instantly began to worry how I was going to scam Mother Morgan out of 47 quid, and then ate a $10 bag of kettle cooked potato chips out of the minibar in my room. I then walked to see Buckingham Palace in the pitch black rain.
One noteworthy observation of United Kingdom is the configuration of toilets in the bathroom. The seat portion of the toilet is all that is visible from within the bathroom, as the tank is hidden inside the wall, and all that sticks through is the handle. Being the amateur plumber that I am, I made it a point to study each toilet in every bathroom in order to determine how to gain access to the toilet's tank should the flapper become worn.
I once again slept in the Old World, and took the J train (I mean Jubilee line) to the office. At the London office I discovered that a human being existed for every email address I had been blindly writing to in the past eleven months. For lunch, I had some more deep fried haddock, and for dinner I had seven (7) pints of lager. The blokes from the London office were nice enough to send me off in a cab when all the Foster's caught up to me. I don't remember much about the ride, except for the driver pulling over, putting a plastic bag on my face, and telling me to wipe up my seat. For a moment I thought I was back on Vestal Parkway, getting yelled at by Frank the cabdriver. When I finally reached the hotel, I made it a point not to look at any of the hotel staff and made my way straight to my room, for fear that I'd be thrown out.
The next morning, my complimentary Virgin business class limousine picked me up. At this point I was very hung over and very dehydrated, and the only thing I could think of ordering while in the complimentary Virgin lounge were two glasses of ice water. I almost put the pretty waitress's face through the table when she wanted to know whether I wanted sparkling or still water. Water is water, and seltzer is for old Jews, and I was damn hung over.
The flight back to the States was awesome, as I got to watch the entire first series of The Office. I also got to watch a documentary on synaesthesia. A few hours later I was back on the couch with my Bed-Stuy mutt, Lindy. I took a nap in the New World.
I spent Sunday afternoon enjoying the Bar Mitzvah of Alex Marc (with a c) Goldstein at none other than the Manhattan Beach Jewish Center, but my unwanted advances towards one of the Goldstein nieces whom I've been trying to "dig" since the fifth grade (when her DD cups turned to E cups) were cut short, as I had to make my transcontinental flight (business class, natch) from one industrial wasteland (Newark, NJ, USA) to another (Glasgow, Scotland, UK). As most of my friends and family are aware, I am one of the worst airline passengers around. I must admit, my anxious nerves were somewhat subdued, as I did not (in typical Kerchner fashion) vomit on the way to the airport.
This is getting a bit long-winded, so let's cut straight to the UK. I headed straight for the office, and at eight o'clock UK time, I headed back to the nicest hotel in all of Glasgow, the Malmaison. I order the most expensive plate of fish and chips ever from room service, proceeded to throw all the linens from my bed onto the floor, and slept for the first time in the Old World.
My next day in Scotland consisted of some deep fat fried sheep by-products. I worked an entire day and slumbered, once again, in the Old World.
On Wednesday, I ate some deep fat fried haddock and flew to London on a second-rate carrier, whose landing seemed to frighten even the most seasoned travelers on the airline. I then spent 47 quid ($84) on a cab ride from Heathrow to Hotel Nobu. I forgot to get a receipt when I got out of the cab and instantly began to worry how I was going to scam Mother Morgan out of 47 quid, and then ate a $10 bag of kettle cooked potato chips out of the minibar in my room. I then walked to see Buckingham Palace in the pitch black rain.
One noteworthy observation of United Kingdom is the configuration of toilets in the bathroom. The seat portion of the toilet is all that is visible from within the bathroom, as the tank is hidden inside the wall, and all that sticks through is the handle. Being the amateur plumber that I am, I made it a point to study each toilet in every bathroom in order to determine how to gain access to the toilet's tank should the flapper become worn.
I once again slept in the Old World, and took the J train (I mean Jubilee line) to the office. At the London office I discovered that a human being existed for every email address I had been blindly writing to in the past eleven months. For lunch, I had some more deep fried haddock, and for dinner I had seven (7) pints of lager. The blokes from the London office were nice enough to send me off in a cab when all the Foster's caught up to me. I don't remember much about the ride, except for the driver pulling over, putting a plastic bag on my face, and telling me to wipe up my seat. For a moment I thought I was back on Vestal Parkway, getting yelled at by Frank the cabdriver. When I finally reached the hotel, I made it a point not to look at any of the hotel staff and made my way straight to my room, for fear that I'd be thrown out.
The next morning, my complimentary Virgin business class limousine picked me up. At this point I was very hung over and very dehydrated, and the only thing I could think of ordering while in the complimentary Virgin lounge were two glasses of ice water. I almost put the pretty waitress's face through the table when she wanted to know whether I wanted sparkling or still water. Water is water, and seltzer is for old Jews, and I was damn hung over.
The flight back to the States was awesome, as I got to watch the entire first series of The Office. I also got to watch a documentary on synaesthesia. A few hours later I was back on the couch with my Bed-Stuy mutt, Lindy. I took a nap in the New World.
posted by adamk at 8:15 PM
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