It features an angst-ridden New Yorker who lives in London and is going to Heathrow to catch a flight to Norway. She has
a typical New Yorker name which nobody, not even her bank, can spell, and doesn’t
really want to be going to Norway
anyway to meet a man called Jean-Pierre who probably won’t be there. The practically-minded
taxi driver who knows none of this still advises her to go to Tenerife
instead.
The other main character is a Norwegian man who is getting
very angry at the check in desk because they’re being unreasonable in not letting
him on the Norway
flight. This is because he has no passport, no ticket, no reservation, and no
means of paying for it. And then the check in desk explodes for no apparent
reason, but nobody is seriously injured.
Typical Douglas Adams. Happy to carry on reading. Will
advise if still happy at the end.
(Whilst reading the aforementioned work, my electricity was briefly interrupted twice. My computer doesn't like that sort of thing, but seems to have survived with little more than a limp. I'm hoping it was the Lady Ciara's way of waving a fond farewell.)
(Whilst reading the aforementioned work, my electricity was briefly interrupted twice. My computer doesn't like that sort of thing, but seems to have survived with little more than a limp. I'm hoping it was the Lady Ciara's way of waving a fond farewell.)
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