When A Man Tires . . .

At Heathrow Airport, England, with a 12-hour wait between flights, I decide to head into London for some fun and breakfast in the West End. Hmm, delayed by maintenance work on the Underground, I arrive in time for a massive downpour instead, so decide on lunch instead, making a quick dash to my favourite fish 'n' chip shop next to the stalls of Berwick Street market. The rain begins as soon as I leave so, feet aching, brain ravaged by jetlag (the Toronto-London flight essentially means two minutes sleep in a six-hour flight), and clothes drenched, I decide - after a quick dash round Covent Garden - to head back to Heathrow and a 7-hour wait in Terminal One. Tomorrow has to be better . . .

PS A famous old Englishman once wrote, "When a man tires of London, he tires of life" or words to that effect. He didn't take rain, jet lag and sore feet into account . . .