I had a nice breakfast of potatoes smuggled past the freedom-loving TSA. But first I had an energetic massage, aka “female opt-out” from a short, serious, brunette. But not before I’d dusted the carpet with talcum powder liberally sprinkled into my boots this dawn. I was afraid they’d close the airport for anthrax, but no. All is calm.
I’ve had three hours to breakfast and sip Peets best Sencha, $3 including tip for two tea bags and a side of hot water. When will someone develop a takeaway teapot?
I just booked myself into a hostel in Temple Bar for my second night in Dublin, since I could only get one night at my first guesthouse. Of course I’ve left booking until the last moment, but at least I have some place to lay my bleary head for two nights before taking the ferry to Wales, then train to Oxford.
I’m bummed not to have packed my oxfords for Oxford, but weather reports were rain, so I opted for rugged chic black boots. Plus talc.
Feel free to comment and pose questions, those of you who claim interest in this voyage, and anyone else intrigued by the minutiae of transatlantic flight.