Previously: With Madeline as the narrator we are following her and her harpist friend, Cordelia. Cordelia has invited Madeline to accompany her to where she is having her harp therapist course.

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The day arrived. Shuttling back and forth, the previous night, we had loaded most packs and suitcases, and umbrellas into the car. There were only the harp and our day packs remaining. The trip to the airport was simple and unusually conflict-free. We quickly checked in using our fancy high-tech licenses.

It was a new thing in Vermont. They must have wanted for us to be able to prove we weren't terrorists. We had to bring papers to prove who we were, along with our social security cards. I saw many turned away because they couldn't present the fancy papers, like a light bill from their local electric company.

Remember, in school, when you questioned whether you'd ever need algebra? Well, that was the same rampant doubts that surged, about all the fol-de-rol to get our license renewed. Just as we found out we used the algebra in its most primitive form, we discovered there was a function for the fancy license. It could substitute for a lot of complicated paperwork.

We flew right through the check-in process and were soon riding on the conveyor belt to the assigned gate. We found seats and did not have to wait long for our flight to be announced.

*******
We knew it was a long trip to travel 'across the pond', however, we had no idea the smoothness of how things were going would soon change. The next events that happened could have been a foreshadowing of the goings-on to come.

We were scheduled to have a substantial meal. That was good since we weren't going to have any other meal except the proverbial nuts and coke. About halfway into the flight, the 'fasten your seatbelts' lights blinked above every seat. This was another red flag or in this case, a red light.

The pilot came on to announce that the ride would be getting rough. I'll say. It felt like we were going over bumps on a dirt road. I swear we went over some ramped jumps you might find on a dirt bike path. Back to the topic of our meal. There was only one burning issue, one complication.

Our steward and stewardesses had to remain in their seats, belted in, for safety for nearly the entirety of the last stretch of the flight. As we were bounced and jounced around, our meals were cooking and cooking and cooking.

You know how a meal gets to the point where you can smell the delectable odor wafting your way? Our meals reached that point, then surpassed it, 'til we began to smell burning starch. Our frozen baked potatoes were morphing to carbon. I'm sure our chicken was shrinking as it shriveled in the intense heat.

When the 'fasten your seats' lights went off, the steward and stewardesses quickly busied themselves cleaning up, only to return to their seats preparing for our descent. The meager plastic cup of coke and tiny bag of nuts were going to have to sustain us until we found food the next day.

*******

After exiting the plane and retrieving our belongings, we walked next door to pick up our prearranged rental. We were actually in England, we'd made it. It was really happening.

For some reason, neither Cordelia nor I anticipated what we were going to be challenged with. We just stood there staring at the steering wheel.

Not the wheel itself, but where it was located. Ooof. Neither of us had ever driven a vehicle with the steering wheel on the right side, our passenger's side of the car. What we would soon realize is, that was not the worst discovery.

We were going to have to drive in the opposite lane we were accustomed to. What would have been an act of self-preservation on our highways was shear self-destruction on these roads. To raise the proverbial bar even higher, darkness was chasing us.

It was raining or drizzling, as we will end up terming it. I do not like driving in the rain. I got terribly lost driving by myself in New York, headed for Brooklyn. My friend Marty said I was in an area where I could have gotten my face ripped off.

I've since realized I was asking them where some foreign street was located, clearly, not a part of their world. That situation could be paralleled with a lost tourist asking us where a street was, in another town.

Cordelia would be the navigator. Upon leaving the airport, we were faced with too many choices of roads. It probably wouldn't have mattered which one I turned onto.

Just as I began to feel more confident, Cordelia let out a yelp. "No.... What? ...How could that be?"

Once again, I had no idea what was going on. I had to get to the bottom of this and fast. "What? What's going on?" I felt like I do when I was trying to understand why my cat was yowling. She just sat there mewling, looking back and then forward and then back from where we had just come.

"I just saw a sign saying '15 kilometers to London'. We're supposed to be leaving London, not driving toward it."

I put my head back with a gasp of exasperation, covering my tiny terror. She put her little map reading flashlight on as I continued in the direction we were headed...London airport.