Okay. It's 1am, local time, which is actually 7am *my* time. I got up at 5am my time, and have been up for 26 hours. When I got up at 5, I'd only managed about 4 hours sleep. So calculating the hours, that works out at Fucked Up Sleepy Dead Brain.
Got to Gatwick, met Jay the crazy freelance journalist who sorted out the trip for me, had a bacon sandwich, coffee, removed all clothing, shoes, skin, muscles, bone marrow, for the security scans, and got on plane where we commenced THE LONGEST FUCKING FLIGHT OF ALL TIME. First, it just sat there for 45 minutes before it took off. No worries, we thought, we'll watch some movies. When me and Jo went to New York, we flew Virgin, economy, which had about ten movies, loads of tv, games, radio, all sorts, on their in flight entertainment tv screens. This flight, THE LONGEST FUCKING FLIGHT OF ALL TIME, we had two movies. X-Men 3, that brand new movie that came out months ago, and Firewall, see X-Men 3. Neither of which I wanted to see. A couple of TV shows, and some shitty radio stations. So, nothing I wanted to watch, and no games. Which was okay, because my remote controller/gamepad wouldn't come out of its slot. Which was okay, because my TV switched itself off after 2 minutes of trying to watch anything at all. And so we commenced on THE LONGEST FUCKING FLIGHT OF ALL TIME, where we basically stared at the sky map and cried for 9 hours. There was nothing else to do but drink. So we knocked back JD and Cokes. Which was fine, until they ran out of JD. We actually drank them out of JD. The really nice army guy next to us gave me his leftover JD bottle, so I was okay for a bit longer. We looked at the skymap. 4 hours to go. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
To cut a long story short-ish, we landed. Went through customs, picked up our bags, then put our bags back into the check in, went through security again for some reason, desperately tried to find a pub before our 3.15 boarding time, found one at 3.10, opposite the gate, necked a skanky lite beer (we didn't know it was lite till we'd paid), and ran onto the plane, the last to arrive, stinking of booze, unclean, staggering, going slightly mad, giggling like schoolkids, and sat down. The flight was 34 minutes, and they served drinks. We ordered a gin and tonic each, and I shit you not, we'd barely lifted the glasses to our mouths when they announce that we were about to land. We knocked them back double quick, had the empties snatched away, and landed.
Austin, Texas, is very hot. Very, very hot.
It's also beautiful, really nicely laid out and spacious. We got picked up, taken to our scary lodge in the woods, with a shitload of beers, a massive bottle of Jim Beam (photo soon, you won't believe it), and met some other people, including Tim, the Alamo Drafthouse cinema dude. A shower and some more drinks later, we went to a special screening of Borat. More on that in a minute. First, the cinema. Best. Cinema. Ever. Every other seat row is a row of tables, where you can put your booze and food. They have a massive menu, 60 bottled beers, and you put your order on a piece of paper, and the waiters sneak in and pick it up, bringing it over to you when it's ready. As VIP guests, it was all free for us, which was wicked. Anyway, onto Borat. My throat still hurts from shrieking with laughter and horror, and then whisperiing "oh no, oh noooooo" to myself when something horrific happened. Back at the scary lodge now, we're having one final drink, and are then crashing into bed to get some sleep.
The film festival hasn't even started yet. It starts tomorrow. Be afraid. Be very afraid.