Travel Day 1 - Wolvo to Heathrow

And so it begins,”Early Retirement”, “The next big adventure”, my “Second innings”…  the last week has been a bit of a whirlwind.  I certainly managed to turn Tuesday into the new Friday in old London town. Steak was consumed by an inner sanctum of middle aged white salesmen and some hangers on. Diversity is something as a pensioner I apparently don’t need to worry about.  To be fair, since they won Britain’s Got Talent in 2009 I have not really worried about them. Lunch with beer, wine and lube was quickly followed by Guinness and another Guinness, and then a speed walk to BrewDog for another 6 hours of beer, rum and coke, and rum, and coke.  Oh and the incident that may or may not have occurred in the toilets, didn’t occur. And even if it did… don’t tell his girlfriend!! 

Moving on… the rest of the week kind of dragged. Handover meetings and holiday prep! Mostly holiday prep to be fair. Oh, my 'Idiots Guide to Triathlon training' arrived. “What are you going to do in retirement Steve?” Well I could complete a triathlon now I have the book and the impressive calves required. I also have a predilection for Whiskey, chocolate and curry. Now there’s a culinary triathlon to challenge any 50 something slacker! So, what AM I going to do in my retirement? Well, when the going gets tough, the tough get on a plane and fly business class to Bermuda. So that’s what I’m going to do!


Was that an idle brag to make you feel terrible about not being able to retire at 56 and jet off to the Caribbean whilst drinking Champagne and joining the mile high club? Maybe. That said, obviously you know Bermuda is not in the Caribbean. I’ll probably be drinking whiskey, and unless the mile high club is something to do with walking up hills, I’m not joining it! I’d put my back out. Also, sex in a public toilet!? Ewww, no one does that anymore do they? Well, apart from on Tuesday. But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me! 


So Saturday, cases finally closed. Taxi, didn’t turn up. Taxi that did turn up was technically not big enough for 2 fat bastard cases and 2 fat bastards flying business class to Bermuda. Did I mention it again. Oh I’m sorry. Anyway, with the rear seat half down and the little lady's ass wedged in the boot we made it to Wolvo Station in plenty of time for our business class transport to London. In an effort to save money, we were travelling in standard class. Well, it would have been an extra £40 for Premium Economy and I’d still have had to walk the length of the train for an egg and cress sandwich and a cup of the finest coffee you can buy, made from fermented and dried doner kebab meat by Wolverhampton’s finest coffee bean roasters! 


The London Underground was equally joyful. Heaving with tourists, who if I’m not mistaken weren’t even British, and also the knuckle dragging Neanderthals who actually were. I don’t know who I hate most. The weekday Londoners with their Apple AirPods, joyless expressions and Cyborg like adherence to the rules… 'stand on the right', 'stand behind the yellow line', 'MIND THE GAP'. Or… Weekend Londoners… it’s like London when the teacher has just popped out of the room for 5 mins. Absolute bloody chaos! I honestly lost count of the people I intentionally walked into with my luggage. I have no idea how many unruly children perished, unwittingly flattened by a 4 wheeled behemoth of a case, full to the brim with my XL budgie smugglers. Needless to say I had a great time! 


After 5 hours of planes trains and automobiles we finally arrived in our business class hotel for the evening, the Premier Inn. It’s The Inn, where many a Premier has stayed. It cost me £66 and that includes the slowest WiFi known to man at no extra charge!! The evening saw us consuming beer and a burger in a restaurant whilst barely looking up from our mobile phones. We’ve already spent way too long in each other’s company. If she thinks I’m making idle chat in a restaurant all romantic like, she can do one!  


Oh the harsh reality of married life in your 50s! I’d like to chat but, it’s too bloody noisy, the fact we are in comfy chairs means we are sat half a mile apart and anyway, I don’t need to be shown anymore fecking unfunny cat memes on Instagram! 


I’ve got another 2 weeks of that shit to look forward to. 


God help me! 

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