Moscow to London via Amster-god-dam
The need for slumber passed, replaced by the paranoia that consumes me whenever I'm faced with uniformed military types as I handed my passport over at immigration control. A largish woman with the beginnings of a Greek boy moustache looked me up and down as she fingered my pages. The scene momentarily reminding me that former Soviet Union was still far from all onion domes, vodka for breakfast and panty shots of Anna Kournikova. She finally allowed my passage, handed my passport back and flashed a smile that said, 'what the fuck, is a dental plan'.
I was on my way, albeit via Holland.
It was after a dozen beers, forty quid worth of gambling chips and an impromptu session of nasal hair grooming in the confined space of a 767's toilet that I caught my first glimpse of London. Through the toughened acrylic window and a bunch of low lying clouds I got a birds eye view of the place I would call home for many years to come. As depressing as the opening credits of Coronation Street, London seemed an overcrowded, bleak shit-hole. Box housing on top of box housing, split by the darkness of tarmac, splinters of green and a winding brown snake. It was a world away from the aerial beauty of Amsterdam. No patchwork fields, no giant's toy-box, not a windmill in sight. I sipped the last of my double Cointrea on the rocks and filled in my entry card as the seat belt light flicked on and we made our final descent.
I did a little mental arithmetic. Loosely based on current prices, inflation indices and the value of the Australian dollar in England I confidently concluded I had 45 minutes after touchdown to seek meaningful employment. Taking into account the need for a pint, a tube ticket, and a copy of the Evening Standard on arrival that figure diminished to 15. Luckily I had a scrap of paper in my wallet with a phone number on it. The Kid would save me.
The Kid was a long lost comrade from the hazy days I'd dubiously dubbed my further education. We had shared a tertiary course in Business, more than a couple of good times and a twelve-day cruise through the South Pacific, debauchery and beyond.
I found a phone.
