Dispatch from the front line

Finally, after the day from hell, I have arrived in the B&B with all my luggage intact. The day can be broken down into distinct phases:

Phase I: Get up this morning and get ready. My father does my head in by helping me pack, and RUINS any chance I have of enjoying a relaxed breakfast. It is only afterwards that I realise he made it somewhat easier for me, but nothing sends my parents into a neurotic frenzy quite like a looming flight departure.

Phase II: Arrive at airport. I have excess luggage which works out at 7.45 euro per kilo. I end up paying an extra 105 FUCKING EURO!! ONE HUNDRED AND FIVE!!! It is only then that the baggage assistant lets it slip discreetly out of the side of her mouth that the flight has been delayed by two hours. Two hours. As my parents like to arrive early for these things, we are two hours early for the original flight. So a wait of four hours looms ahead of me. Four hours.

I was sorry to say goodbye at this stage. My mother was very tearful, and all I could manage was 'It's for the best, Mam'. She said that she knew this, but she cried anyway. I left them and headed for the departure lounge. The guy who took my ticket seemed to know me as he addressed me by my first name, even though it wasn't on the ticket. I hadn't a clue who he was, so I just looked at him blankly and then walked through.

The flight was then delayed by almost a further hour. I resorted to pacing up and down the duty-free to amuse myself. Just as I went to go to the Little Boy's Room, the boarding call came.

Phase III: Get to Gatwick. As usual, I didn't enjoy the take-off or landing, but everything was OK. Struggle with my 60kg of luggage and after going up and down the same ramp in the wrong direction TWICE, I eventually figure out where the trains are and get a porter to help me carry my suitcase, two holdalls, a duvet, and a guitar down to the platform. I manage to get the train.

Phase IV: Get to Brighton and wrestle with the luggage trolley for 5 minutes before LOOKING at the explanatory diagram over it, and finally getting one free. I manage to get a taxi after a while, and get to the B&B in Kempton (nicknamed 'Camptown' because of it's position in the middle of the gay quarter. Wa-hey!).

I've been here before for the course interview, but once again, my impressions are good. I tipped the taxi driver for helping me with my bags and he thanked me profusely. He could teach a thing or two to the taxi men back home. Everything still looks as good as I remember it and the pier, now open, is stunning.

The orientation programme for international students starts tommorrow. Fingers crossed.

I think I'm going to like it here.