I left for Prague directly from the end-of-term bop. I mean, we danced our little essay-less hearts out, I washed off my facepaint, and I was off with my REI backpack at 12:30 am on Sunday, March 14th. Annie and I had a bus to catch at the ungodly hour of 1 am, for the horrendous three-hour ride to the airport, all so we could sit and wait for our flight at 7:15. With a fresh box of doner and chips in hand, I made my way to the High Street stop, only to run into Annie on Cornmarket Street.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To High Street?” I said. “Where are you going?”
“Our bus leaves from Gloucester Green, you dork,” she said.
Huge crisis averted there.
Managed to get a couple hours of sleep with my cheek smashed up against the cold bus window, and once we were on the plane I was out. I wasn’t even conscious for takeoff. Annie was fast asleep too, and we both woke up as they announced our descent into Prague. Annie sat up fast, looking around her wildly. “Are we turning around?” she asked.
“What?” I said. “No, we’re getting to land.”
“Why aren’t we moving?” she asked, with more than a little note of hysteria in her voice. “Annie, we’re getting ready to land,” I said. “We’re moving. It’s fine.”