Cambridge does possess an international airport, though to my knowledge, there are only a few flights to Amsterdam. To get to Japan, I had to take an early morning bus to Heathrow. The lady in Premier Travel, where I had bought both plane and bus tickets, had said it would be possible to change to the earlier 04:10 bus, but it might incur a charge of £1.50. I had decided not to risk sleeping prior to setting off, and had spent most of Tuesday trying to sort out business with the house. A PhD student had visited at lunch time, very interested in the small room that was still available to let. However, he phoned later in the evening to say he was going to share a house with some friends, instead. I hadn’t managed to get contact the lady from Oakington who also wanted to let the room. I’ll have to leave these matters in the capable hands of my agents, Andrew and Sarah.
By three a.m., I was still struggling to finish everything. I had written all the letters on my list, but there was still no sign of the missing landlord’s certificate, or the application for becoming a house in multiple occupation. Neither did I have time to sort out my tax affairs - I simple grabbed a couple of important documents and stuffed them in with the rest of my kit. The printer produced a couple of front covers for my Canadian hitch-haiku CD prior to being buried along with countless junk in my attic.
I left the back door open as I grabbed the rucksack and day pack, taking a final look at the kitchen clock. I didn’t dare risk missing the bus, so ran most of the way. In the absence of a watch to confirm my progress, fear compels one to press on. A bell struck four just as I arrived, and the bus driver happily accepted my ticket without surcharge. I drifted asleep.
I was in ample time to check-in, and even managed a quick wash in the toilets - the sweat from running had soaked into my shirt and underwear, so it was refreshing to change. In my rush, there had been no time to change into my travel clothes, so I have an extra pair of trousers with me.
There was nothing to do inside the terminal once I had checked in. I’d had to leave the scissors in the checked-in luggage - another effect of September 11th, so couldn’t cut up my namecards. I could have gone hunting for litter, but the terminal was pretty clean, and I only picked up a symbolic piece near where I was sitting. My final coins went on a jumbo Twix, and soon I was seated in my window seat for the flight to Frankfurt.
I love peering down on a world where everything is tiny and beautiful. The aerial view transforms many otherwise ugly places, such as quarries, into interesting ones. I took a few snaps, remembering to thoroughly clean my lens first. It is a pity that many of my better photos of Canada are spoiled by easily avoidable blotches. Japan will need more discipline if I am to succeed. The clouds below gave the appearance of moving in the opposite direction to the plane, but on closer inspection, by watching the progress of their shadows, one could deduce they were following us.
A young girl smiled at me in the bus from the plane to the terminal. Of course, I later realised she was smiling at Pooch, who had taken up his guard position in my lapel pocket. Still, I’m glad he’s doing his job. The flight attendant on the plane to Japan also commented on him.
I watched some of the movies during the flight, since I seemed only to be able to catch a few hours of sleep.