cally switch to another line, making 11 stops to Victoria Station and then take an express train that would take me to the airport. Of course when that Sunday was happy (actually it was Saturday) to take the metro is that the line was out of service, although there were replacement buses doing the same route. This is quite common in London (as they lay not so much REPLACING buses). I caught the first bus that came. After an entire family of nonsense. To begin the bus drivers had to be new, or dyslexic, or an outsourced consultant, because the first long street that was, that branched off to the right end dropped something like "shit, is not around here." The truth is that now as I write is funny, in fact when he saidpo, but should get, so I remained stoic on my site. Between the second and the third stop seems there was a fire or something, and we had to stay away from the street while fire trucks passed. I do not think I could finish, but between this and the traffic jams caused by the absence of meters were late as 20-25 minutes per stop. Buser did not help that the addition of subnormal turns out it was a funny and at every stop is pulled a little time talking with other employees joking about how little we knew the route and the times he nearly lost. I tried to go flipping through my mental breakdown as he read the next one: it was a kind of text on techniques for actors, speaking in a very serious tone about how bows lRobert de Niro as eyebrows or smiling Jane Fonda ambiguous. I did not get focus (and quickly read it and I went from page), and came to the conclusion that if I stayed on that bus in addition to losing the plane would lose control, so at the next stop and I got out looking for a taxi. Was far from Victoria, so as fast as I could do was take a taxi to the airport. I went to a Black Cab (the classic black cab), which is the first in the list of things not to do in London if you want your money lasts longer than five minutes, but had no time. He wondered how soon to Gatwick, I said an hour, came into my room, ok. Then, not without fear, I asked the price. He said a lot to mecaused an instant nausea. When she saw my face of pure terror I lowered 20 pounds, but still was somewhat exorbitant. An indescribable sensation of pain I got in the taxi. Of course in 10 minutes we were in an endless traffic jam, and when we saw a scary sign that said that Gatwick was still about 35 miles.
20 minutes I arrived at the airport before he left the plane, I ran like an idiot throughout the terminal and came to the offices of shipping. It is my companion, who also had a particular adventure, he arrived at the same time. We told the nice lady that we were late and if we could board. He scored a phone number but did not answer, so he told us that the flight was already closed and was impossible. At that moment I felt all the negative adjectives in the dictionary beginning with stupid and I got the distinct impression that God existed and was also an asshole. However, the girl told us we could put on another flight, 4 hours later. Sigh of relief (relative, because what I paid for a taxi not ever heal), hugging, jumping for joy. God (or whoever) bless easyJet.
I hope that what has happened to me and the story in question, besides making me laugh and you'll have a good time, serve as a reflection on public transport in London and that everyone who is going to do something like it has very into account.
What how is Edinburgh? It is a city to see when we got off the bus weled the airport to downtown, look where we looked at was full of castles, monuments and impressive buildings. In addition it was night and everything was beautifully illuminated. Almost the whole city is beautiful and the people are friendly and not too large (it makes a difference when you come from London). A city that is worth ... and I tell you that my "punishment" is, um, considerable.
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