I got a bit weepy when being waved off by Helen at Edinburgh airport. Met some fellow Gallifreyans at the departure gate at Heathrow, and enjoyed a pleasant flight - 51st State being great fun, especially Robert Carlyle's brave but doomed Scouse accent. The journey then demonstrated Zeno's paradox perfectly - the closer we got to the destination, the slower we moved.
Maybe I was just wiped out from the journey, but after speaking to Helen at 2am her time, the night went downhill. One or two loud, pissed-up, or over-flirtatious Brits really spoiled the atmosphere, and the convention not having started, they had an empty canvas to defile. Being quickly brushed-off by a former on-line acquaintance when I introduced myself to him for the first time was a bit crushing, too. However, Maggie Stables is enchanting, and Mark McDonnell engagingly down-to-Earth.
An unsatisafctory night, neither civilized nor riotous, but having the worst aspects of both. Retired at 11pm but woke again at 3:30 and have stayed up to unpack, and am feeling far less unsettled now that I have imposed some order on my lovely large third-floor room.
I think I may press ahead and learn an edited version of one of Ronnie Barker's monologues for the cabaret on Saturday night - Getting Your Wrongs In The Word Order. In the meantime, I am joining a massed visit to Universal Studios today. Just time to go and forage for high-fibre food (a brave objective) and maybe have a swim if it's nice at 8 o'clock. I'm glad to be here. Bath time.