Trains, Trains, Trains, Trains, Trams, Planes, Planes and Automobiles.

So much like a kebab I'm hot, sticky and smelly. God I want a kebab.
It's been roughly 24 hours since I landed here in Ho Chi Minh City and I'm finding it hard to get a grip on the place because of my massive jet-lag.
It took me four trains to reach Heathrow's terminal five, essentially a huge US-style shopping mall with the occasional plane and\moaning Norweigian. They were all on time and they were all pretty clean. I read the paper, I enjoyed some tasty cookies and apart from a seem,ingly endless period of time in which the carriage was invaded by football hooligans (from the South of all places) quiet. Ok, probably quiet. That hour was the only time I heard noise not emanating from my MP3 player. This is a sound I will come to miss. Oh, and the London Underground on a Saturday? Eeeeeerily quiet. I suspect terror. That or the Circle line visits precisely no stops of interest.

The last of these fine rail vessels brought me to Heathrow's shiny new Terminal Five. Or as the press are calling it "the biggest British embarssment since Mark Thatcher". 'Terminal Shit' is also being bandied about. I had a ticket that need a quick change, due entirely to Liam related Visa-snags, which meant I had to join the queue for the ticket desk. On a normnal day this would be a ten minute job. On this particular day it took an hour, an hour throughout which I was surrounded by irritated tourists and smiling airport staff. I hate airport staff. I hate people smiling while doing their jobs. Airport staff should be neither seen nor heard. Jobs should make you miserable. Together? My hangover was looking like the least of my problems.

Ticket swapped, liquids put in a clear bag (before going through an X-ray machine regardless. What was the fucking point of that?) and shoes removed I was let though security without even the most cursory of cavity searches. Feh. Now upon entering the collossal departure area, I was struck by how many of no-one's favourite chain stores were there. Also present were precisely zero Lonely Planet style guides to Vietnam, because no-one sane ever comes here. Luckily there was food and free samples of food. I like both of these plenty. I also like having huge black coffees and sitting on my ass. Four hours of things I like passed pretty quickly, during which time you'd think it would be possible to PUT MY FUCKING BAG ON THE PLANE. Let's pretend for a second that this happened shall we? It will make the following eleven-hour flight much less stressful. Ignorance is bliss folks.

So, seat sat in and bag safely stored (down the side of my seat, thanks to crafty online checking-in) I get settled ion for eleven hours next to a fat smelly man who is seemingly incapable of joy. Long haul is awesome like that. To sum up the flight: The Office, 30 Rock, Enchanted, No Country for Old Men, Bee Movie, ContONE HOUR OF SLEEProl, Everybody Hates Chris. Another way of putting it: Coffee, Beer, Fish Pasta, Orange Juice, Peanuts, Cranberry Juice, Cranberry Juice Cranberry Juice, Weird Breakfast Bar, Cooked Breakfast, Orange Juice.
One final way? Getting Out of my seat. Yeah, that happens LOTS when the guy in the aisle seat is passed out and insurmountable. The food wasn't nightmarish, but it would have been better ifit hadn't seared the flesh from my tongue with the first mouthful before giving me brain freeze with the next.

Honk Kong airport is a lovely place to run through, I do hope that someday you OR MY FUCKING LUGGAGE gets to see it. Me too for that matter, because my transfer took an interminable time for no real reason so the run from arrival to departure was a swift one. Also the in-flight entertainment lasted for a full quarter of the flight and I'd already finished reading Q.

Then I arrived in Vietnam, and everything that had gone wrong thus far was brought into sharp, smelly focus...