9.30 AM on sunday, flew to Hampsterdam where we ate ham and cheeshh sambos and went through that machine that looks at you in the nip to see if you're dangerous for planes an all and then boarded a very nice plane with lashings of movies and empty seats for lying on. Four Christmases, Sin Nombre, 500 days of summer, The Informant, G.I. Joe, Perfect Getaway, District 9, etc, etc...weird rubber chicken dinner...then no food for 6 hours so Johnny and Max ate 17 packets of complimentary peanuts, Phil's legs swelled up and Kieran, Kieran was content.
Got out and hurled our enthusiastic and mouthy selves at the emigration officer who coincidentally was keen on transferring to Dublin Airport's US emigration office so he could "party and meet Irish women." Lucky turn for us as he didn't ask us any tricky questions...even though we have nothing to hide, except for our genius, that's extremely well hidden. Met our driver, Brock Hudson (no joke). A young, powder-faced punkrock kid from Oxford, Miss. Cracked green and blue nail polish on his fingernails. Stopped to stock up on beer as we remembered the absolutely no alcohol sold on sundays policy in Mississippi, and it was Max's birthday so something had to be done. A few cases of Miller High life and delivery to our home for the next couple of months. A delightful open-planned bungalow with all the trimmings. 4 bedrooms, 4 and a half bathrooms...ever try to wee in half a bathroom? You need sniper willy!
Got some gumbo and Po'boy sandwiches and clam chowder and fried chicken and had a couple of beers in front of the telly...trawling through 17,000 channels of ads and folks who are really enthusiastic about their religion and some other stuff and decided we'd get a good night's rest and prep for a proper birthday celebration starting early the next day and ending when our spirits were broken.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!
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