It was an inauspicious beginning to what has turned out to be a lovely holiday so far (save for the seemingly necessary politics that are really grating on my nerves with regard to a certain few people, but never mind). Meg and I got to the airport in Newark only to find that our flight had been delayed by two hours, a fact that was later changed to three. Then, upon grabbing dinner, the server at McDonald’s practically poured orange soda all over Meg’s lap, though thankfully she was wearing light trousers and it dried quickly. The flight itself was a disappointment; I felt let down by Virgin, with whom I’d flown almost exclusively my entire time at St Andrews, as the electronic systems weren’t working properly, the stewardesses were less than polite, and the food (which, granted, isn’t saying much) was burnt practically to a crisp. And of course, by the time we touched down at Heathrow we had long since missed our train up to Scotland, and a few hours later we finally came to the conclusion that nothing was to be done about it. The train people said our only option was to buy new tickets … at nearly four times their original cost.

So we plopped ourselves down in a pub at King’s Cross. We needed it.

I’ll do a more extensive update soon, when I get home and have access to my photos.

‘Til then … cheerio!