Just so you know, I’m typing on a metal keyboard (finger numbing good) on a glorified phonebox at Stansted Airport. And paying a quid for 15 mins too, but some loser left some money in it so I don’t mind.
I’m dosed up to my eyeballs on flu remedies and high dose vitamins, and have that strange taste you have in your mouth when you’ve been jogging for half an hour. Not too pleasant. I’ve also been lugging Hamish’s possessions a bit. His uncle passed them to me in a wood paneled white suitcase at Liverpool Street. I can’t open it, so had to lie to the check in staff. Just have to trust that he isn’t a terrorist I suppose.
So, Prague here I come. Don’t even know where I’m staying, but I have a little English currency this time, so shouldn’t have any problems really.