i am dead beat. My 14 hour flight consisted of watching rent for the second, third and fourth time, eyeballing the queer woman who sat next to me, silently cursing the damn man who sat infront of me with his chair reclined all the way back (who also happens to have the worst case of bad airplane hair i've ever seen), reading adrian mole aged 13 3/4, laughing myself to sleep and then waking up with a bad case of oily airplane hair.

Not bad enough?

How about being hit on by a small little south african man (cab driver)? traumatic enough I think. The best part is that, I met the man's mom as well. hah! When we reached bankside, he offered to help bring my lugguage up to my room but being paranoid, i started concocting senarios where he'll hunt me down if he knew my room number. So i refused. I dragged my nauseas ass all the way to the 6th floor while juggling 4 pieces of lugguage. quite a feat i must say.

Wish I could go into more detail. I would love to describe how the queer woman cursed throughout the entire journey and how the cab driver shared with me intimate details of his Japanese ex-girlfriend. But i'm dead beat. Goodnight everyone. hello London.