Following on from Part 1 (if you can bear to…), we are on the airport shuttle from the car park to Terminal 2 in Heathrow with the tickets, passports and Richy’s wallet on the roof of the car in the long stay car park. I don’t think I need to detail the kind of exchange (or non-exchange) we were having for the remainder of the 20 minute journey. Continue reading
I’ve decided I’ve got to do this story in sections, otherwise it will be too long (and unbelievable… I’ve already blogged about the very end). I’ll start with the background and beginnings. Richy Rich and I booked a mammoth weekend away last November. Three nights in Marrakech. As I kept boring everyone I came across beforehand, even spending time with Richy in the airport was gonna be amazing, let alone the actual trip. Continue reading
Earlier this year I went straight from a meeting in London to an overnight work gig in Birmingham. It was all a bit surreal (involving Alan Bryman and Angry Birds impressions). The following lunchtime after an intense focus group workshoppy thing, I rushed off to catch the train back home. In the short walk from the hotel to Birmingham New Street, I thought I was in Manchester. That really threw me when I got into the station and couldn’t find the ticket machines, and the trains/platforms had all disappeared. Continue reading
mydaftlife 