You always forget how nutty jet lag is. It's as if you've spent a weekend in Vegas unsyncing your body clock to the point where you're just silly tired, at all the wrong times.
On arriving in London, you top off your two flights (and extra long layover) with customs and some baggage wrangling...but then you step out into the crisp (way too early) morning air and a black cab pulls up. Out hops a South London cabbie, who calls you "luv" and proceeds to tell you all about his holiday with "the missus" in Cypress. The Tuesday morning rush hour traffic is slower than cold maple syrup poured through cheesecloth. It's worse than usual. "Strikes on the tube" the cabbie tells you.
You arrive at your street corner destination and pay the man a whopping £80 (roughly $120) while apologizing for the 80p (buck twenty-five) tip...it's all the cash you have. With a cheerful "not to worry luv" he's off and you're on to your first "proper" cuppa (cup of tea). Sleep is only a blissful 14 hours away...
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