(written at 1330, London time) Figured I’d be writing this after I arrived home, settled in.  Figured I’d take a look around my little apartment, plug all the computers back in, grin satisfactorily at the Polaroids on the wall, bit of a dramatic sigh.  Instead, I’m stuck at Heathrow airport, mainly due to a taxi driver who was blissfully unaware of how to get from one place to the other using a funny thing called Roads.   He gave up after 40 minutes of Dukes of Hazzard-style shenanigans, dropped me at a tube station. At the time I figured I could still make my plane.  I now refer you to paragraph two.  Due to the great deal I got on my ticket, changing my flight was rather expensive.  Seems that deep within the fine print of that great deal was a SHOULD YOU WANT, FOR ANY REASON, TO CHANGE YOUR FLIGHT, WE WILL DO OUR BEST TO SUCK YOU DRY OF EVERY OUNCE OF GOODWILL YOU’VE EVER HAD FOR ANOTHER HUMAN BEING.   Maybe terrorist organizations don’t actually try to get the suicide bombers to hate another country.  Maybe they just get them in a line for customer service.  Seems to do the trick just fine.  It is under this cloud of wanting to strangle everyone who even looks at me funny (my Choke Cloud) that I have begun to review my trip to England.   It was probably the best trip I have ever been on.   I got to travel to another country, all expenses paid, to talk about the two things I love most: Me, and photography.  I was able to meet people I’d known only from the internet, was shown an unbelievable amount of generosity and hospitality, was given the opportunity to teach.  It was incredible.  Made new friends that I hope to keep in my life a mighty long time.  People I was aware of because of the internet, but you can’t make friends on the internet, of this I am now sure.  You can initiate a friendship, but it’s that IRL time, that’s what cements it.  That’s when you get a chance to really experience a person, warts and all.  And I’ve got to say, of all the people I met, they were, to a man, so much better in person than I’d ever imagined from interacting with them on the internet.  Kevin Mason: the man who made it all possible.  The godfather of this entire trip.  Sally Reynolds: my shepherd, this entire trip.  Truly one of the finest people I have met, in all my years.  Matt Halls: I knew this guy not at all before coming out here, and now I can’t imagine not having him around.  About as decent a bloke as you’ll find.   Dan Pope: our man from Bristol, made that workshop run smoother than a greased up baby sliding down a flagpole.  There’s lots more, everyone was amazing.  The entire Brighton crew:  Katherine, Mary, Emma, Tash, Stevi, Sam, Louie, Tess, Georgie, Eleni, Milo, Harry, Akin, Rosy, Tess, James, Ben, the fine Irish lass at Nina, everyone who attended the talk on friday, all you lovely folks (whose names I warned you I would not remember) in my three workshops. The Bristol crew: Natalie, Tamara, Jonny and all you lovely folks (whose names I warned you I would not remember) in my Sunday workshop.  The London crew: Josh, Mike, Bela, the fine Irish lass at The Book Club, Sally’s roommates, Flo, Emily & »», Laura, Maud, Sam, Charlotte, Sarah, the weird WEIRD folks at that poetry reading.  Also, for what it’s worth: the only bad meal I’ve had in the last 13 days has been here at the airport.  I almost attempted a citizen’s arrest, that cook should be strung up, a burger that bad.  Beef overcooked, bacon Undercooked.  Criminal.  The sights? Not really my thing.  After living so close to Universal Studios, going on the backlot tour so much, everything older than 200 years looks fake to me.  Big Ben? Thought it’d be taller. When it comes down to it, I’m a people person.  I travel to see people.  Places, buildings, architecture? Just things.   Fortunately, the people didn’t let me down.   So, I’m soon to leave, really bloody thankful I came, hoping to do it again, soon.  Not too soon, because down deep, I’m a townie.  More than 6 days from LA, I get a weird feeling in my gut.   Regrets: didn’t get to go to Paris.  Didn’t get a ridiculous tattoo.  Never had a kebab.  Missed running into Warren Ellis by about 4 minutes. Didn’t visit Scotland. Things I’m glad I did: oooohhhhh, can’t really talk about all that.  CODE BLACK.  Plane’s boarding.  I have no regrets.  Oh, except for that small list.  I mean BIG regrets.  No Big regrets.  I’d have done it all the same. Except for several things.  Hm….Let’s try: Plane’s boarding.  I regret nothing deeply! i’d do it all again, with only minor modifications!    View high resolution

(written at 1330, London time)

Figured I’d be writing this after I arrived home, settled in.  Figured I’d take a look around my little apartment, plug all the computers back in, grin satisfactorily at the Polaroids on the wall, bit of a dramatic sigh. 

Instead, I’m stuck at Heathrow airport, mainly due to a taxi driver who was blissfully unaware of how to get from one place to the other using a funny thing called Roads.  

He gave up after 40 minutes of Dukes of Hazzard-style shenanigans, dropped me at a tube station. At the time I figured I could still make my plane. 

I now refer you to paragraph two. 

Due to the great deal I got on my ticket, changing my flight was rather expensive.  Seems that deep within the fine print of that great deal was a SHOULD YOU WANT, FOR ANY REASON, TO CHANGE YOUR FLIGHT, WE WILL DO OUR BEST TO SUCK YOU DRY OF EVERY OUNCE OF GOODWILL YOU’VE EVER HAD FOR ANOTHER HUMAN BEING.  

Maybe terrorist organizations don’t actually try to get the suicide bombers to hate another country.  Maybe they just get them in a line for customer service.  Seems to do the trick just fine. 

It is under this cloud of wanting to strangle everyone who even looks at me funny (my Choke Cloud) that I have begun to review my trip to England.  

It was probably the best trip I have ever been on.  

I got to travel to another country, all expenses paid, to talk about the two things I love most: Me, and photography. 

I was able to meet people I’d known only from the internet, was shown an unbelievable amount of generosity and hospitality, was given the opportunity to teach. 

It was incredible.  Made new friends that I hope to keep in my life a mighty long time.  People I was aware of because of the internet, but you can’t make friends on the internet, of this I am now sure.  You can initiate a friendship, but it’s that IRL time, that’s what cements it.  That’s when you get a chance to really experience a person, warts and all.  And I’ve got to say, of all the people I met, they were, to a man, so much better in person than I’d ever imagined from interacting with them on the internet. 

Kevin Mason: the man who made it all possible.  The godfather of this entire trip. 

Sally Reynolds: my shepherd, this entire trip.  Truly one of the finest people I have met, in all my years. 

Matt Halls: I knew this guy not at all before coming out here, and now I can’t imagine not having him around.  About as decent a bloke as you’ll find.  

Dan Pope: our man from Bristol, made that workshop run smoother than a greased up baby sliding down a flagpole. 

There’s lots more, everyone was amazing.  The entire Brighton crew:  Katherine, Mary, Emma, Tash, Stevi, Sam, Louie, Tess, Georgie, Eleni, Milo, Harry, Akin, Rosy, Tess, James, Ben, the fine Irish lass at Nina, everyone who attended the talk on friday, all you lovely folks (whose names I warned you I would not remember) in my three workshops.

The Bristol crew: Natalie, Tamara, Jonny and all you lovely folks (whose names I warned you I would not remember) in my Sunday workshop. 

The London crew: Josh, Mike, Bela, the fine Irish lass at The Book Club, Sally’s roommates, Flo, Emily & »», Laura, Maud, Sam, Charlotte, Sarah, the weird WEIRD folks at that poetry reading. 

Also, for what it’s worth: the only bad meal I’ve had in the last 13 days has been here at the airport.  I almost attempted a citizen’s arrest, that cook should be strung up, a burger that bad.  Beef overcooked, bacon Undercooked.  Criminal. 

The sights? Not really my thing.  After living so close to Universal Studios, going on the backlot tour so much, everything older than 200 years looks fake to me.  Big Ben? Thought it’d be taller. When it comes down to it, I’m a people person.  I travel to see people.  Places, buildings, architecture? Just things.  

Fortunately, the people didn’t let me down.  

So, I’m soon to leave, really bloody thankful I came, hoping to do it again, soon. 

Not too soon, because down deep, I’m a townie.  More than 6 days from LA, I get a weird feeling in my gut.  

Regrets: didn’t get to go to Paris.  Didn’t get a ridiculous tattoo.  Never had a kebab.  Missed running into Warren Ellis by about 4 minutes. Didn’t visit Scotland.

Things I’m glad I did: oooohhhhh, can’t really talk about all that.  CODE BLACK. 

Plane’s boarding.  I have no regrets.  Oh, except for that small list.  I mean BIG regrets.  No Big regrets.  I’d have done it all the same. Except for several things.  Hm….Let’s try:

Plane’s boarding.  I regret nothing deeply! i’d do it all again, with only minor modifications!   

Notes