“She’s hot, I wouldn’t have shot her.”
“So you mean that it’s OK to kill unattractive people?”
“No, it’s just, different.”
“Right.”
“So how do I keep in touch with you?”
“Ummm… “


And that’s not even where the weirdness began.

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Why I am leaving this place for somewhere so cold?

11:00pm. Crete, Heraklion International Airport.

Checking in for my stupidly late flight to England. 1:10am departure. Uuuurgh.

“Hello, passport please.” The Greek airport worky person takes my documents. “But I wish you weren’t leaving – why are you?” I am slightly perplexed. Do I know this man? Nope.

“Because I have work in England, but I’m coming back to visit soon I hope.” He looks me with a thoughtful expression, reminiscent of a prospective buyer checking out a brand new car.

“Is this your name?” Yes dear travel official man, that is my name on my passport that I handed to you 30 seconds ago. Last time I checked I was not a spy, nor trying to smuggle drugs into the UK via my unmentionables. “OK,” he replied with a slightly creeptastic smile, “I’ll invite you on Facebook.”

HUH? I’m sure that’s breach of airport protocol… but he didn’t even mention that my luggage was 3kg over weight (supposedly an added charge of 10E), so I smiled and walked calmly (ie. ran) off.

3:30am. London, Stansted international.

Just bought a ridiculously priced sandwich and have settled down with my laptop to try get some writing done, and wondering how I managed to gain 2 hours from a 4 hour flight. Oh well, I’ll leave that one up to people who aren’t brain dead from travel exhaustion.

Cue another American… I dont know what it is about airports and Americans, but I do seem to have the strangest luck. Like the one that just swooped in and kissed me.. It’s always when I have my laptop out, so somehow it must bring me bad juju… Just not meant to write in airports I suppose. Maybe my thoughts would be too flighty.

Anyway…

“May I charge my phone in your laptop?” I smile (managing to ignore the innuendo completely) and say, “Of course. Where are you from?”

“The US. And you?”
“South Africa. Just travelling at the moment. ”
” Oh, South Africa. Have you heard of the Oscar Pistorius Case?” Really, REALLY? Is there anyone foreign who meets me and doesn’t want to ask me that… Because I DON’T CARE, WE CAN’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED… And I totally, utterly and completely DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. *whew* ok I’ll breathe now…

“Yes, but it doesn’t really interest me.”
“She was hot though, the girl he killed.” Say what and hold on to your crazy horses…
“Excuse me? ”
“She’s hot, I wouldn’t have shot her.”
“So you mean that it’s OK to kill unattractive people?”
“No, it’s just, different.”
“Right.”
“So how do I keep in touch with you?”
“Ummm… “

I stand up, because” Oh! my bus is leaving”, politely unplug his iPhone, and walk calmly away…

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7:30am. London Underground, making my way to my friends house where I’d be camping out for a few days. Saffa couches for the win.

Made my way by bus from Stansted to Liverpool station in the wee hours of the morning. The main lines have been down and I’ve been helped by really nice people so far, finally on the last tube to Southfields.

“Whew, the tube was a mission and a half this morning,” I harrumph out into the ether. A well dressed middle aged gentleman looks at me, my obnoxiously large baggage in hand, and smiles.

“Just arrived have you? It’s OK, if you travel without that thing, and after peak hours, it’s much better. Where are you off to?”
“Southfields, to stay with friends.” We proceed to chat a little about what he does, what I do, what I’m looking forward to in England. Just before his stop he takes out a pen and paper.
“Here. It’s my number and email address. I’m happily married with a son and a daughter, but I always want to be able to help where I can. If you have any questions about London, let me know. I’m not being weird, I promise.”
I thank him, he doesn’t seem anything other than genuine. Then he takes the paper back and scribbles something else on it.

“That’s my sons email. He’s really lovely and he’d love to show you around, I’m sure. Send him a message OK, promise. He’s a great boy.”
Wooooah Sally, now that I did not expect… It’s not every day you meet a man pimping out his son on the train. I wonder if it’s a common occurrence. He got off at the next stop, and I still have the details in my bag… Unused of course. I’m not sure I wouldn’t be required to pay for services rendered if I ever did get in touch.

I finally get off, make my way through the streets to my mates place, and stop to buy some delicious raspberries for brekkie. After finding the key left under the bin for me I crash onto the sofa… It’s been 36 strange hours awake, and I’m glad to be home. I connect to the wifi and my phone’s LED glows blue…

“You have one new friend request.”

Oh goodness.

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