Monday, April 8th .....

I was very confused with change of time zones and found myself under the misapprehension that the plane was three hours late.  I didn't work out what the problem was until I saw the proper time on a clock dial, and the first clock I saw in London was Big Ben!

So, I'm in London after a pretty good flight.  I'd recommend Royal Brunei to anyone who is happy to forego the odd drink while they're travelling. And don't take their advice about where is the best place to sit.  59H was rubbish; I was much better off in 49D.

The tour of London was great.  I didn't get off the bus but I saw the famous images and got a feel for the depth and breadth of history.  I was reading the Daily Mail and although it seems to be a much better paper than any in Australia, it's still obsessed with scandal and celebrity and parading the hard-luck story of the week.  When you consider what sort of people the Brits have been through history: nation and empire builders, innovators and adventurers, stalwart in hard times and the world's most powerful nation for three centuries, and then look at them now.  Nuff said!

It's easy to be awe-struck by the beauty of London but the Tube soon brings you back to earth.  Designed when the average Londoner was about 5ft6in, the carriages are so tiny and the tunnels are made to match.  And even Sydney has tried to bring their station into the  21st century by installing lifts.  London still depends on the old stairs worn down by the feet of the Londoners who sheltered there during the Blitz. The doors on the trains are sudden death too.  The train came in and we all rushed for the door. Being the gentleman I am, I let a couple of women go ahead.  As I threw my suitcase on the train, they propped, leaving me in limbo, bag on the train, me still on the platform. 'Keep going, ladies,' I said and

 squeezed up behind them.  They never moved, the doors slammed shut trapping me (just) on the train but my backpack, still attached to my shoulders outside the door. It took two beefy passengers to force the door open enough for me to drag it through.

I had one mishap: I lost my wallet (don't worry, I found it again).  Before I started on the tour, I checked my suitcase and carry-on bag into Left Luggage at Charing Cross Station - 2 pieces at £8.50 per piece.  By the time I got back to collect them, I was starting to feel the results of the long flight and lack of sleep.  Somehow, after paying the ransom for the bags, my wallet must have  fallen out of my pocket.  I didn't't discover the loss until I got to Euston Station.   The brain was working for once and I realised where I had last seen it. I proceeded in a northerly direction (too many police dramas!) until I found the Euston Left Luggage office, asked the man there to ring Charing Cross and see if it had been handed in.  It was.  Not wanting to drag my heavy luggage up and down an endless number of rather dangerous stairs, I checked two pieces in to Euston and shot off to get the train back to Charing Cross.

I'm really getting to know London, I can tell you.  Went to Left Luggage, sent on to Information booth, here's your wallet but I've paid the £135 into the ticket office. Why? I didn't want to take responsibility for it, here's a receipt.  OK, went to the ticket office, no idea what I'm talking about. Here's a receipt, can you ask someone else?  He's on his break and shouldn't be long.  He was.  Do you have the receipt?  I gave it to the other fellow.  I can't give you the money without the receipt.  I gave it to the other fellow.  OK.  Do you have the wallet? Yes, thank- you.  Can I see it? Can I see the inside?  OK, I'll have to give you a voucher.  What do I do with that? (See how calm I am) I'll cash it for you.  Laboriously  he counted out the money, checked it, then counted it out note by note in front of me.  Thank you, I said between gritted teeth.  Now you count it please, he said.  I did.

Back to Euston, mopping my brow.  At Left Luggage, there's another jobsworth at the counter.  Can I help you? I left two bags here when I rushed off to Charing Cross to collect my lost wallet.  Do you have a receipt? He didn't give me one, I was in too much of a rush.  Well, there's no receipt left on the counter.  What do the bags look like? Is the other chap here?  He's on his break.  (Oh, God) Can you, please ask him if he remembers me?  He says that everybody gets a receipt.  Well, I haven't got one.  What do I do now?  Show me some photo ID and pay a penalty of £15.  That's a total of £32 (for looking after your bags for 35 minutes).  Welcome to London!