Landed in London on a mild 35C day—it was noticeable from the moment I stepped off the aircraft onto the sultry jet bridge, and all throughout the long long walk to immigration it felt more like landing in Australia than the UK, except that the Aussies know air-con while the Brits secretly want it, but profess to be concerned more about climate change so they suggest planting trees and retrofitting their buildings to use southern European architecture elements like courtyards and white walls and exterior shutters, rather than simply spending some pounds and putting in a mini-split.
Immigration was quick, my new passport worked the first time despite my big mustache. Last time I passed through immigration the border guard / immigration operative / passport checker suggested I shave it down so the facial recognition cameras would recognize me better; I wanted to tell her she should get rid of her hair bangs but that would be a non-win. At least I didn’t get the quiz about ‘why are you here’, ‘to visit family’, ‘where do they live’, ‘An OAP home in Sutton’, ‘why do they live there, you’re not British’, ‘they retired here’, ‘why did they retire here?’ endless nattering.
Climate change once again hit me after collecting my baggage and strolling underground to the the Elizabeth Line entrance at T3—oops, it’s cordoned off! Staff is saying “this is closed due to health and safety reasons” and I asked why and staff said “it’s just too hot on the platform”. Ah well, time for me to adapt.
Staff recommended going to the Underground station down the corridor, getting on a train to T5, then onto the Lizzie line, though there were delays and reduced service. I opted to go to the Underground Station down the corridor, turning left, and getting on the Piccadilly train which was leaving in 2 minutes or 7 minutes or 13 minutes. I made the 2 minute one, tap my iPhone to the reader, green light, good to go, passing confused Americans waiting in a queue at the ticket booth, checking their iPhones, bored and frustrated, already somewhat failing at London.
Quickish ride in a cool train to Hammersmith, District Line to Whitechapel, Windrush to Shoreditch (geez, the Overground line names are so weird), hotel, shower and a longgggg nap. A beer at the pub with my mate Jon, Chris showed up a bit later (he was on a different flight as we’re cashing in airline points separately), then a nice nine hour nap.