Let's start with the night I left. I got Damien to drop me off at the Ibis at the airport, as I didn't really feel like waking up at 4am or something in order to get to the airport in time for my flight.
This was my room:
a bathroom the size of the one on the plane:
and a lovely view of the airport out the window:
and a lovely view of the airport out the window:
Anyway, with time to kill and nothing good on TV, I went in search of food.
It was miserable and cold out, and the only thing within "I am willing to put up with this" distance was a McDonalds.
One dreadful world cup themed burger later, I went back to the hotel to try to sleep.
Worried that I would miss my flight, I set several alarms on my phone, and got in bed.
I lay there, and worried that I would miss my flight.
I got up and went to the bathroom, and then went back to bed.
I lay there, and worried that I would miss my flight.
I fell asleep. I woke up again, maybe 15 minutes later.
I lay there, and worried that I would miss my flight.
I got up, went to the bathroom*, and liquid fire shot from my rectum into the toilet bowl. I crawled back to bed.
I lay there, and worried that I would miss my flight. Or that I would make my flight and I had dysentery**.
eventually it was 5:30am and I got to go get on a plane.
* For those that don't know, or for the sake of posterity, for the past few days the other members of my household have been suffering from Dysentery (or some facsimile thereof) and have spent what little timne they haven't been locked inside the toilet crying out in dispair, or throwing up, telling me "You best not catch dysentery off us. It would be horrible to be trapped on a plane for 14 hours and have diarrhea and vomiting"
** I didn't have dysentery. I would say don't eat McDonalds before flying, but the latter part of the sentence is redundant. Lousy FIFA burger...
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