(there’s not a star in heaven that we can’t reach)
Yes that’s a ‘High School Musical’ quote, perhaps the fact that I’m currently 32000 feet in the air is impairing my judgment slightly but I think that’s a quality start to this post, in fact, to any blog post.
Unfortunately (fortunately?) I haven’t grown wings but am on British Airways flight 285 from London Heathrow, about 3 hours into my journey to San Francisco- it’s actually happening. Now, you’re probably all expecting hilarious interjections throughout this blogpost about the fat man sitting next me who’s all up in my grill/the fact that I’m having to type this with my elbows superglued to my sides/general amusing quips about how painful flying is but that’s not going to happen because, and don’t hate me, I’m flying Club Class. Actually, on second thoughts hate me if you want- I’ve already had two glasses of champagne, a glass of chardonnay and a three course lunch so I’m currently too chilled out and satisfied with life to be stressed out about anything.
My last few days in Glasgow were jam packed and, as predicted, there were a fair amount of sniffles. I became extremely adept at identifying ‘chin wobbles’ when I was saying goodbye and that was enough to set me off every single time. So goodbyes weren’t fun and neither was the packing- I left it until Monday and naively said that I would only half fill my case on the way there. Paha– I filled it and then some. I’m fully prepared for any days when I’m feeling a bit homesick as I’ve packed two mugs, tea, a ridiculous amount of chocolate and have downloaded Bridget Jones’ Diary- there’s nothing a bit of Hugh and Colin can’t fix.
Anyway, enough about the goodbyes and sobbing (no one wants to hear about the sad things) and onto the journey. On my flight to Gatwick from Glasgow on Wednesday I was lucky enough to gain access to the British Airways lounge which was ridiculously awesome- you could help yourself to free tea, coffee, wine, whiskey, fruit, sandwiches, beer… mental! I went with a latte and a bit of shortbread then decided to fetch a paper and I as I walked over I was aware that I’d just passed a voice I recognised, so glanced over on my way back and it was Biffy Clyro.
For those of you who don’t know I’ve recently gone through a prolonged phase of obsession with Biffy Clyro and their most recent album ‘Opposites’ (I’m actually listening to it as I type- ‘Biblical’ is by far the most listened to song on my iPod). In particular, I am completely and irrevocably in love with the lead singer Simon Neil and almost talked myself into getting a tattoo sleeve because I love his so much.
So, my heart started thumping like an absolute maniac (I was half convinced I was about to have a heart attack), I went back to my seat and text my brother:
I’d love to say that I was super cool, collected myself and walked right over to them but in reality I had a complete mental breakdown and walked past them twice more before realising I would regret not talking to them for the rest of my life (I’m not exaggerating), so I grabbed my diary, phone and marched over to them:
Fiona: Hi guys, I know that this probably isn’t proper lounge etiquette but I don’t get into the lounge usually and I just wanted to say that I absolutely love your music and… that’s all the speech I’ve have prepared.
Biffy Clyro: *laugh* No worries at all that’s lovely to hear, where are you off to?
And cue chit chat for five minutes. That’s right, I managed to chit chat with Biffy Clyro for five minutes. They were absolutely lovely, I gazed into Simon Neil’s beautiful eyes as he smiled up at me (after I accidentally threw my phone at him having lost all control of my limbs. He picked it up. I still can’t deal.). We spoke about California, uni, passing through security where I explained how nice everyone had been to me since I had clearly been blubbing like a baby before coming through- I said they should give it a try if they were ever stuck but they said it would ruin their ‘manly image’. Plus, y’know they’re rockstars so probably don’t get much hassle. Then they signed my diary (note the kisses):
and we took a photo, Simon (I’ve decided we’re on first name terms now) offered to ‘take a selfie’ because he has ‘long arms’ but in the end one of the staff took the photo:
Against all the odds I actually looked fine in the photo, I said goodbye to my new BFFs, sat down and tried to comprehend exactly what just happened. It occurred more than 24 hours ago and I’m still in shock.
Anyway, I’ve probably written entirely too much about the run in with the internationally renowned rockstarts/future husbands (you don’t need to tell me that they’re all either married or engaged. I’m fully aware. Life’s a bitch sometimes.) and we should get back to the journey. I think the best way to do it is in a timestamp diary format type shebang:
0630 Get up, have my last cup of tea on British soil
0800 Leave the house with my Uncle, have a quick cry with my Auntie
0930 Arrive at the airport, check in, discover I’ve been upgraded to Club, celebrate
1030 Go to WHSmiths and get carried away buying far too much chocolate
1115 Arrive at the gate and glide past everyone else there because I’m flying Club Class yo
1125 Board plane
1135 Receive first glass of champagne
1200 Take off
1205 Get blanket out, receive menu, order (YES ORDER) the food I’d like, plug in Biffy Clyro and read my book
1215 Receive second glass of champagne
1217 Remember all I’ve eaten all day is a tiny bowl of cereal. Find this hilarious and realise I’m fast on my way to becoming
drunk deliriously happy. Slow down consumption of bubbly deliciousness.
1400 Have smoked salmon starter, beef and roasties for main, a glass of wine (oops) and ice cream and chocolate for dessert
1430 Decide that I really need to be rich when I’m older so that I can always travel in this kind of style
1500 Lights go out on the aircraft but I decide sleeping is a waste of the experience
1530 Switch from Biffy to the new Arctic Monkeys album, have heard good things but remain unconvinced
1640 Haven’t drunk champagne in a while, start to suffer from withdrawal symptoms
1740 Decide to finally catch up with the rest of the world and watch Slumdog Millionaire for the first time
1755 Give up on Slumdog, you’re all just going to have to man up and accept that I haven’t seen it and that I stuck on Identity Thief instead
1850 About 90% sure the guy sitting beside me is absolutely hammered, he just danced up the aisle (presumably to get another glass of wine)
1910 Apple juice and plum time
2030 Finished Identity Thief and also Mindy Kaling’s book Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? and now I’m hoping that I’ll be fed something soon
2033 Dancing drunk man is away off again.
2050 Lights are on and there’s a woman handing out hot towels, this can only mean one thing- food
2120 Salad, mini cupcake, mini brownie, mini tart, scone with cream & jam and a cup of tea. Man oh man
2122 On reflection I feel a bit queasy
2200 Pack everything away, watch the approach to San Francisco
2240 Land and get off the plane, local time 1440. Let the adventures begin.
Up until this point everything had gone smoothly. Possibly too smoothly? (Note that the ‘*’ denotes a passage of time, something I learned after reading an Agatha Christie novel in which she used them to hide the fact that the narrator was the murderer. Not cool Agatha, not cool at all.). It took me two hours to get through customs. Imagine the biggest queue you’ve ever seen ever. This was bigger. On the plus side though I got through absolutely fine on my visa and my case made it through safely! On the downside though the shuttle I booked left without me and it’s now 0133 in the UK, I’ve been up for 19 hours and it’s another 1.5 hours until the shuttle bus leaves. Ouch.
I’m in Davis now, it’s really fecking hot all the time. Update on arrival to follow in the next couple of days.
Catch you later!