In transit—sitting in the British Airways Lounge in London, which, let me tell you, is a far cry from the Food Court in Istanbul. I am not sure if it’s the mood music, the plush carpet vs. the sticky linoleum that Sam is pretending to be swimming on, or the frothy cappuccino served in real china cups, but I am happy as a pig in… a blanket!
Steve grumbled that all marriages are better with airline clubs. I suspect he was referring to the pleasant mood which we are all in…but little does he know how correct he is…because there is much less of a chance I will run off with an uptight business man wrestling me for a better seat than the cute Rastafarians boozing it up in Istanbul at the bar at 7:30 this morning offering to buy me a beer…
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