Planes, trains and policemen

I would love for this to be a witty and fabulous blog but I bet it won't be. It's going to be just barely above a stream of consciousness.

The plane rides were uneventful. We didn't manage to get four seats together from Minneapolis to London but we did get 2 in row 15 and the same 2 in row 16. I was happy with Northwest, thought the plane was overbooked. The entertainment is on-demand screens at each seat. A nice selection of movies and TV and music and games. You can pause, fast-forward and rewind the movies and watch as many as you have time for. That results in less of a rush for the loos when the movie ends! And the wine and beer were free, even in economy.

A nice bonus they also had was a/c power in the seats in the first cabin of economy class.

::time passages::

So it's almost a week later and I've forgotten everything in a jetlag haze. Except the part with the taxi, so I'm going to write about that.

So the flights are fine. The kids are golden. Everything went as well as could be expected (except I left the jet-lag medicine in the overhead bin and felt it was too much effort to get it out being that we were in the middle seats. I was wrong.) Anyway, we land and have to go through customs and get the bags. Takes a while as the flight was uber-full with all the students. So we were up about 45 minutes later. I don't see anyone waiting with a sign.

No problem. I have the number and TMobile said Ananda's phone would work in the UK. Take out the phone. No service. Am I suprised? No. Just disappointed. The kids are still good. I pull out some coins (because I Am Prepared) and call. The driver is there, he's over by rental car counter. I look around. Oh, you mean *that* guy? The one with the sign with my name on it being talked to by not one but two police officers. Great.

Long, long story short. He has no livery license, no insurance and an incorrect drivers license. The cops won't let him drive. Becase I Am Prepared I have prepaid. 78 pounds. After waiting 45 minutes at the Starbucks, with the kids wilting, keeping Ann updated with my dwindling coin supply, we end up getting TWO black cabs. The cabbies think we are insane as the ride from Heathrow to Greenwich is an hour or so. A mere 180 pounds later, I'm at Ann's.

Now I have to write a letter to the cab company to get a refund. (That pisses me off. Just give me the @#$ refund. You bastards know I paid.) I have had zero time this week to do it. It's on the list. The list is getting long long long.

Wait until I write about the rest of the week. At least there are no more cops involved.