>My flight home from London was scheduled to be 8 hours long. We were delayed for over an hour before we left (some of the time in the terminal, where I marveled repeatedly at the funky beverage dispenser that worked like something out of a Wallace and Grommit ‘toon), so Sara and I realized that we’d be back late. What we couldn’t know was that our plane would defy the laws governing time.
While various time counting mechanisms, such as my watch and the clock on my computer, showed time as it passed, it seems that the plane entered a special space where every hour that passed was counted as a minute. I somehow watched Flushed Away twice, edited two articles, and finally in desperation, sat through most of Marie Antoinette, which absolutely deserved its Oscar for costume design but also could be used as a torture device. (Maybe it was partially responsible for making the flight seem longer…) When we landed and the crew announced that it was 8:30 pm (only one hour later than our scheduled arrival time), Sara turned to me and said, “They must mean 8:30 on Thursday.” My hair was certainly greasy enough for me to believe that I had been on the plane for 5 days. You can’t convince me that we did not go through some hole in the time-space continuum.
Still, I had a great time. It was wonderful seeing Mara and her hubby, and meeting their new adorable baby. I had such a nice time there, I even offered to vacuum the apartment before I left. (Note: When I got home, I neither unpacked my suitcase nor put away my laundry that Husband washed while I was gone, so this voluntary domestic helpfulness is uncharacteristic of me.) I can’t wait to go back. I promise not to throw up in any more potted plants at immigration.