I woke up at quarter past five to catch my ten past eight flight, which you might think is overdoing it a little, but it wasn’t til I found some free internet on the express train from Paddington to Heathrow that I realised that my plane wasn’t leaving Heathrow, but rather London City Airport on the other side of town. I arrived at Heathrow terminal one, insulted its mother casually, crossed the platform and got on a train back to Paddington. There I took a forty pound taxi ride over to the correct airport, bought a coffee, threw it away, and boarded my flight.
The countryside around Frankfurt is charming at the moment. All the leaves are changing colour and embarking and it’s all very peaceful.
Strangely for such an affluent part of Germany, no-one seemed to speak much English, so I had to get by in patchy phrases, like “ein fur Russelsheim Hauptbahnhof, please,” und “Wo ist der shit-hause?” But I managed ok.
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| Beethovenstrasse, where the Puchners have been producing fine instruments for 113 years |
In other news, I now have a British mobile and the number is 07 856 280 711. I’m carrying three phones now and am starting to feel a bit like a drug dealer.
Best,
Michael
