UK Travel Blog

For all of you loyal thousands, well at least ten, eagerly waiting for the next significant missive, I have decided to interrupt my dissertation on the various issues associated with the whole nutrition and supplement thingy to share with you some of the glamour and romance of the international business traveler.

I left LA to fly to London with the sure knowledge that I would be basking in the gentle caress of United Airlines Business Class, but sadly no upgrade came through. I was cast unceremoniously into the realm of the partially destitute in economy and as I listened to the pilot’s earnest announcement to “sit back, relax and enjoy the flight,” I wondered if he had recently visited Colorado because only through a somewhat hazy perspective could anyone imagine that one could enjoy an overnight flight, crammed into a space sufficient only for a miniature Schnauzer to which said dog would probably turn up his nose and demand a refund. On this particular flight my journey was enhanced by my close proximity to Hamid, a corpulent Egyptian with severe flatulence issues who, on determining I was a lost soul, endeavored to convert me to the one true religion. I was able to escape his clutches telling him I was a confirmed Buddhist and needed to go and chant somewhere private.

Arriving after an interminable period at Heathrow feeling fresh as a daisy after six minutes’ sleep, I caught the shuttle to Budget car rental where I was greeted with a line of disgruntled fellow travelers also endeavoring to take advantage of the best rates, but in our excitement, we had failed to read the small print indicating a 3-hour wait. I dutifully waited and was thrilled to finally engage a Budget employee only to find that they did not have my reservation–words failed me at this point. I was able to finally convince Dominika, my rather rotund Czech savior, that I had a reservation and I was duly provided with a luxurious Ford Focus. I drove proudly away heading onto the M25, the road of lost souls that circles round London, an expectant gleam in my eye prepared to spread the gospel of Grand Meadows to legions of British horse owners, as yet unaware of the untold benefits that lie ahead for their horses.

by Nick Hartog