Over lunch I read re-read Betrayal which is my favourite Pinter play. I love it actually and it is the only Pinter play I can say that about. I realise that this is also a sin.

Around 5 or 6 PM I decided to re-read the last Harry Potter. I haven’t looked at it for a year and I was in the mood. Finished it around 3 AM. I do that sometimes. Read things straight through. I’ve never been good about holding off the pleasure of reading, making it last. I rush through to the end.

Some work people were going out last night in Soho, but I made the choice to not go. I want to be on the wagon for a few months. My loophole is that I can drink when I am out of the country visiting my mom in a couple of weeks and my next biz trip in September.

Stuart was going to the pub and wanted me to go with him, but in addition to my not drinking in the UK thing I have a ‘I do not want to be around him if at all possible when he is drinking’ thing.

It’s for the best.

He called me at 11:30 and he was lucid. He didn’t have that click in his voice when I know he’s been on the lash. I was impressed. He said he would be home in twenty minutes.

He left his phone at home so when I closed HP at 3 AM and he still wasn’t home, I couldn’t call him.

I started to turn out the lights and get ready for bed when the phone rang.

I heard Richard saying something.

Then Matt said, “Rapp! Rapp!”

And Stuart sang, “Three times a lady.”

I stared at the phone. “Hello?”

They hung up.

I waited a few moments debating if I should call Richard’s number or not to say something that ended in an exclamation point.

I called and Stuart answered.

“Did you like that?”

“What was it?”

“She didn’t get it! You didn’t get it. And we PRACTISED. Come on—“

I heard Richard saying something.

Then Matt said, “Rapp! Rapp!”

And Stuart sang, “Three times a lady.”

Pause.

“Did you get it?”

“Your singing?”

“Once, twice, three times a lady. “

“Why did you hang up?

“We thought you would be sleeping—“

“You thought I would be sleeping?”

“And you would pick up the phone and hear once, twice, three times a lady and then we’d hang up and that would make you happy.”

“I was awake.”

“You were awake?”

“You should be happy I was awake.”

“You don’t get it. She doesn’t get it.”

I tried to explain that I did get it, but that I didn’t think the execution was perhaps the best and I didn’t understand why they thought calling and hanging up on me at three in the morning was going to make me HAPPY but he ignored my speaking and they ran through the song again.

I decided to cut bait. “Ok, baby. Sounds like you’re having fun. I’ll let you go.”

”I was sad you weren’t here Thomas Cole. People kept asking and I had to make excuses.

”I’m sorry baby.”

“Know what we’re doing right now?”

“Something that will likely result in your being killed and or arrested?”

“We’re standing in front of a church yelling at people through a traffic cone.”

I could hear Matt and Richard background.

“That sounds great baby. Have fun.”

“I’ll be home soon.”

Pause.

“Okay.”

It’s been really warm here in London, which has been fantastic to get at least a few weeks of summer. It’s been like Los Angeles in June. Really warm, but not too painful. At night, it’s stuffy, but if you open a window you’re probably going to be comfortable enough. A fan would be best, but our fan is being used in the office.

As part of his plan for Global World Domination, Stuart bought a Drobo.

“Honey why do you have a fan running in the office at night when it’s 30 degrees? Can we use it in the bedroom?”

“Drobo needs it. It gets warm.”

“How silly of me.”

Stuart examined the photo. “You’re very photogenic in the dark.”

I blinked.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant you’re very photogenic in dim light.”

I blinked.

“That’s not what I meant! Don’t look at me like that. I meant on the tube and the light is bad but you look good in it. . .”

I blinked.

“Okay. I’ll shut up now.”

Woke up at 1:30 to Stuart yelling at me. “How can you sleep through that?”

“Wha-grumble-slerp-huh?”

“I was sick! Did you not HEAR ME? Look and it’s everywhere, EVERYWHERE and HOW COULD YOU SLEEP THROUGH THAT!”

I was awake now.

Stuart was in the doorway looking a bit wild and then the smell hit me.

He had been sick in the night.

There was sick on the duvet. There was a big pile of sick on his side of the bed. There was a trail of sick down the two flights of stairs to the loo.

How could I sleep through that indeed? Being a deep sleeper can be a good and bad thing.

Never mind that I had slept through his being ill, I was not appreciative of being woken up by being screamed at especially when I had to also clean up his goo.

We tried to clean it up the best that we could and then barricaded ourselves in the living room since that was the only room that didn’t ming.

He thinks his audition for the Exorcist was because of a cold he has been fighting and the coughing fit sparked it. I think the coughing fit sparked a fuse from his not eating food and drinking too much lager.

Today between my nursing his man flu we bought carpet-cleaning supplies.

I only once reminded him that the couple of times that I have been ill I have been able to make it to the toilet and I certainly didn’t wake him up screaming that he wasn’t aware of my upchuck status.

Instead I have been plying toast and tea on him and biting my tongue from saying that his illness is a hangover. It helps that every so often he looks at me with puppy dog eyes.

“I’m sorry.

“Sure!” Stuart said.

So off they went to a house party. After a few minutes there, Stuart asked when they would be going to the Superbowl. . .

He thought that they had tickets to the actual game.

When he told me, I couldn’t stop from laughing.

He wasn’t amused by my reaction. “They took the piss out of me the whole day.”

“Well no wonder Stuart. The game wasn’t even IN San Francisco!”

“How I am I to know that?”

“And the tickets are crazy expensive. Having tickets to the Superbowl is like saying you have tickets to the finals of the World Cup.”

“Pppttttthhhhhhh. . .”

“I know you know you’re an idiot when you resort to the ‘ppthh’ defense.”

“Shut it Thomas!”

It’s A Wonderful Life is one of my favorite all time films. I bought it in the US because I haven’t seen it for a couple of years and I thought it would be a nice thing for us to watch at my parent’s house on Christmas Day.

Was slightly worried because Stuart can be so fickle about films that he likes and hates. I simply would not abide his slagging off this film. It would be grounds for Unreasonable Behaviour.

Jen told me that she loved the movie and that she teared up at the end. I didn’t ask Stuart. I didn’t want to know but when we were at the airport in the middle of our travel drama he brought it up.

“I really liked that movie.”

“You did!” I’m so glad!”

“Yeah. I even got a bit teary at the end.”

“You did? What was your favourite part?”

“My favourite character was the old bloke.”

“Old. . . the angel? Clarence?”

“No. Err- Mr. . .”

“Mr. Potter???”

“Yeah. Mr. Potter.”

“You teared up at the end and your favourite character was MR. POTTER?”

“Yeah. I felt bad for him.”

“You felt BAD for MR. POTTER?!”

“Poor old guy was never going to see the town be called Pottersville. I thought when he fleeced them out of the nine grand that was a suave move.”

Act One

The flight December 21st out of Gatwick was delayed an hour due to fog. This was slightly annoying but not a big deal as we had a 2.5 hour layover in Atlanta so we still have an hour and a half to make our connection..

Cut To: We get on the plane and we can’t take off for another hour because of the weather. We resign ourselves to the fact that we won’t make our connection and we’ll need to get on another flight to Charleston.

Things are slightly complicated by we were flying BA for the International flight and Delta for the US domestic. This will be important later.

We get off the plane and get told off slightly by immigration for going through the US line rather that the foreign line as scanning Stuart’s eyeball and fingerprinting him takes time. Luckily Delta had an information and ticketing desk right outside so we queue up straight away.

Stuart: Now don’t tell them we missed our flight. Tell them our flight was delayed.
Nicole: But our flight was delayed.
Stuart: I know but don’t start with that we missed our flight.
Nicole: I’m not an idiot.
Stuart: I didn’t say that you were an idiot.
Nicole: Yes you did.

We get on standby. If we don’t get on this plane we will need to spend the night in Atlanta. We go to the gate. I sit down.

Stuart: We need to stand at the gate.
Nicole: We’ll hear our name being called.
Stuart: We need to be standing right there because if we miss our name, they will give the seat away.
Nicole: And we are so far away from the desk here. It’s like Siberia.
Stuart: Have you flown standby before?
Nicole: Yes!
Stuart: What country?
Nicole: THIS ONE. Fine. Let’s move. You want to move. Let’s move.
Stuart: No. . .
Nicole: No, you want to stand right on top of the gate so let’s move.

We move. A few minutes pass.

Stuart: Do you have my passport?
Nicole: No.

Stuart is opening every pocket in his jacket and his bag. No passport.

Stuart: Are you sure you don’t have my passport?
Nicole: No!

Nicole looks in every pocket in her jacket and bag. Stuart runs off to look in the loo. He returns a few minutes later with his passport.

Stuart: It was over on the chairs over there. If we weren’t moving around and just stayed still. . .

Nicole glares at Stuart.

Rather than announcing who got seats there was an electronic board. I controlled myself from pointing out to Stuart that we had a better view of the board at the seats than where we were standing.

Act Two

Friday the 28th Stuart and I were feeling rather smug as Jen’s flight to Chicago was seriously delayed due to snowstorms. Smug that is until our flight to Atlanta was delayed an hour and a half.

Our layover in Atlanta was an hour and a half so unless the flight to Gatwick was delayed, we were seriously fucked.

They told us there would be information regarding connecting flights on the board at the gate.

I was feeling Zen. We missed the flight. We would just have to talk to BA and we would get sorted.

Zen until Stuart saw that the flight to Gatwick was delayed. Maybe we would make it!

He ran off to go to the gate. I follow. He stopped and looked at another Departure board. The information wasn’t there. We go back to the gate we just arrived from. There it was - A London Gatwick flight leaving at 7:30. But. . .

Nicole: Stu, wait. That isn’t the BA flight number. That’s a Delta number.
Stuart: What?
Nicole: That isn’t our flight number. Maybe we should ask someone.
Stuart: Who are you going to ask?
Nicole: Someone over there.
Stuart: That’s Delta. They aren’t going to know.
Nicole: Don’t talk to me like that.
Stuart: I’m sorry, but that’s just stupid.

The boarding pass I had printed from BA said that our flight was out of Terminal N. I missed it detailed that the gate was E14. This will be important later.

We run off in search of Terminal N.

Nicole: Stu. Something isn’t right.
Stuart: What.
Nicole: The terminals. On the signs. A, B, C, D, E and T. There isn’t an N.

We get all the way to nearly baggage. Walk/ running. If you know Atlanta, you know this is a little bit of a hike.

Nicole: Maybe we should ask someone?
Stuart: Who are you going to ask?
Nicole: I don’t know. Someone.
Stuart: That’s just stupid.

A moment later Stuart walked up to someone asking where Terminal N was. There is no Terminal N. There is however a Terminal E which all of the International flights leave from.

We hop on the tram. Stuart glares at me.

Nicole: What?
Stuart: Terminal N.
Nicole: Well that’s what the boarding pass says doesn’t it. Not my fault is it? (Nicole looks at her boarding pass.) Oh look. Gate 14E. (Pause.) Don’t look at me like that. You know you could look at this stuff too. Why is it up to me to say what and where and you’re running around like a freaked out little half-cocked yappy dog. A yippy Paris Hilton accessory with a little red jumper. It isn’t MY fault the plane was delayed an hour and a bloody half was it?

People were starting to stare.

We run toward gate 14 E. Stuart looks up at a board.

Stuart: It’s left.
Nicole: Let’s go to the gate and ask.
Stuart: Ask? Who are you going to ask? No one is going to be there.
Nicole: There might be someone there.
Stuart: That’s just stupid.

A man at an information desk tells us that we should go out to ticketing and talk to BA out there.

We get out to the BA ticket counter. Crickets. Tumbleweeds. I stand there for a moment hoping that someone will pop up from behind the counter to save me from this nightmare.

Stuart does the unthinkable and asks the agent at the next desk airline where the BA folks are.

Thick Southern Accent: Oh sugar. They’re gawwun. They’re gawwun for the night.

We call Expedia.

Nicole: BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAH and we just want to know who is responsible for getting us home. BLAHBLAHBLAH. Please help. . .

Expedia is incredibly unhelpful. They tell us to talk to BA or to Delta. That it isn’t their problem. They don’t give me the numbers to the airlines.

We go to speak to Delta.

Stuart: Now don’t tell them we missed our flight. Tell them our flight was delayed.
Nicole: But our flight was delayed.
Stuart: I know but don’t start with that we missed our flight.
Nicole: I’m not an idiot.
Stuart: I didn’t say that you were an idiot.
Nicole: Yes. Yes, you just fucking did.

Delta: Well BA is responsible for getting you home.
Nicole: BA is gone for the night. Is there anything you can do to help us?
Delta: If the flight was delayed because of weather there is nothing we can do to help you. Was the flight delayed for weather?
Stuart: We don’t know but we called BA and they told us that it is your responsibility to get us home.

I consider killing him right there for lying about our speaking to BA. The Delta Agent calls someone to find out why our flight was delayed and she comes back and tells us that they will put us in a hotel for the night but BA will need to get us home.

There was much rejoicing.

At the hotel we get the number for BA from the Website.

BA: But Delta is responsible for getting you home. They caused the delay.
A Very Desperate And Strung Out Nicole: But Delta told us you were responsible for getting us home.
BA: No. No. It would be Delta.

I’m not sure if it was because I was on the verge of tears. I’m not sure if they looked at my profile and saw how much travel I’ve done with them for the last year. I’m not sure if the Christmas spirit suddenly hit her, but she put me on hold and when she came back we had seats on the flight the next evening.

We would be able to escape America.

However first we spent 6 hours in an airport piano bar getting trashed and hearing an impromptu sing-a-long of many standard classics including the theme song from Beauty and the Beast and The American National Anthem. (There was also clapping after.)

Sitting there, me drinking a pint of Bass and Stuart drinking a Budweiser to the warbling of “And the Rocket’s Red Glare” Stuart said, “You know what our mistake was?”

“What?”

“We didn’t ask someone at the gate when we got off the plane from Charleston. We really should have asked someone at the gate. Why didn’t we do that?”

Dear Nicole

Further to the above matter, I confirm that the Home Office was unfortunately unable to process your application today.

In order to complete the processing of your application, the Home Office has requested further original documents in respect of your husband as evidence that you lived together as a couple during the two-year period. Specifically, the Home Office has requested original bank statements or pay slips in respect of your husband (and addressed to him) for the period 4 November 2005 to 31 December 2006.

We are required to submit the additional documents above to the Home Office before 5 November 2007. If you are able to forward the documents to me by around 3 p.m. tomorrow, I would be able to arrange for your application to be resubmitted on Wednesday 10 October. If this is not possible, I would be pleased to arrange for the application to be resubmitted when your husband returns from his travels. (I would of course return your and your husband’s original passports to you in the meantime).

Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have any queries or require any further information.
Kind regards

Gabriela

I went from zero to freaked out and Stuart was sleeping- would be getting up around 1AM to do work so I couldn’t wake him up to yell at him. I told him this would happen.

Getting him to put my name on bills WITH him for the last two years has been an exercise in futility. He was happy to get my name on the ones Jen was on- but that didn’t do me any good in prooving that we lived together. I did have about seven letters with his name and or my name on them too and 5 million things with just my name but that wasn’t good enough.

I was also cursing the solicitor because I knew this would happen and I asked them to look through what I was giving them and to tell me if I should get more stuff with his name on it.

To make things worse, Stuart booked a holiday for himself the last week in October even though for TWO FUCKING YEARS I have told him not to during this window of time.

Freud would have a lot to say about this.

I went to bed at midnight, beyond freaked out. Stuart rustled.

“Hey, when you get up, wake me up so I can talk to you.”

“What?”

I told him. Which okay. WAS slightly evil but I needed to share my, “AGGHHHHH HOW ARE WE GOING TO GET THESE DOCS TO THEM BY 3PM TOMORROW!!” wig out session.

He laid there for a few minutes then got up because he couldn’t sleep because of it. I heard him digging in his office and I hoped he was looking for stuff and I slipped into sleep.

He woke me up with a stack of payslips.

“You had all these?!?”

“I save things Thomas.”

I didn’t know if I should kiss him for having them or slap him for not giving them to me in the first place when he knew I needed them.