London Day 8 - Waiting at Heathrow

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Categories: Diary • 2008 London Trip

Ha ha even in England they must fear the Blue Screen of Death
Well, I’m sitting here in Heathrow Airport outside London, full of coffee and croissant (4.95£, Rathbone!) with about five hours to kill before I’m close to boarding my flight back home. As wonderful as the trip has been, I must admit I can’t wait to get back home. The city, the accents, the pubs are all great, but I miss Los Angeles.

I have to thank the London Int’l Lesbian and Gay Film Festival for bringing me here, and putting on such a good program. Kyle, Sarah, Michael, Transfabulous, London FTM and more were amazing hosts.

Thanks to the lovely Yorkshire-area girls who chauffeured me, fed me
and put me up, too.

(A recorded announcement in a beautiful but stern sounding Englishwoman’s voice keeps saying, “Baggage left unattended will be removed and destroyed.” She has an amusing turn in her voice on the greatly underused word “destroyed”, as if she’s saying it defiantly to a presumptuous rake who has her by the arm in front of her father’s country manse.)

I brought my fiddle on this trip, hoping that I might find some opportunity to play for, or with, some real Celtic musicians. Alas! I did do a little busking in Leichester Square last night, until I saw a previously missed sigh that actually said, “No Busking.” I generally only use the word “busking” because it’s such a dumb sounding word, so I was amused to see it on a sign.

With my street performance career over before it had begun, I slipped into a nearby theater and finally saw ”There Will Be Blood” (Read Andrea’s Review). It was every bit as remarkable as people have said. The milkshake was
drunken, the oil was drilled and there was certainly blood. I really liked Mr. Plainview. I hope things turned out Ok for him, poor man.

Dear God, even with Internet how am I gonna pass five more hours…

(Right now, sitting next to me at Heathrow airport, a proper old English gentleman looked up from his computer to exclaim in Queen’s English; “Every time I click this, up comes some kind of a Spanish prostitute! Look, there she is again!)

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