Texas Attempted: Baggage reclaim

By 2 o'clock the next morning I am hugging my family, the goodbyes inadequate as they will always be. I turn and walk towards Security, knowing as ever that this could be the last time I see them. But you run on faith - you reckon it is not your time to go, not their time to leave you. I did in the same in the army, and every girl I've ever kissed. You just do it - you force yourself; you force what should be and deny the graver interventions. And if it goes right you don't remember it; you call it "life".

On the taxi to the airport I come up with a new song. It's a combination of Blood Brothers by Iron Maiden and The Doberman by Kasabian. I switched rapidly between humming the two songs, and eventually a new song came out. Stand back people - genius at work!

I've got the chorus line: "When the light comes, it burns away all of my senses, my blood and my heart on the page, yeah, it pardons my gravest offences, I cry like an angel of rage". That's all I've got so far - bear with me.

Clearly the people at the airport have heard about this upcoming British icon, for I am transferred to the Express Flight to Newark. I bristle with pride as I stoop into the 6ft corridor and squeeze down the 1ft aisle to my shiny blue seat. Then the Captain comes onto me (as in, his voice broadcasts through the speaker) and tells me the flight will take 41 minutes. I could have sworn it took 3 hours on the way over. What kind of plane is this? Clearly by the height of the aisle it is run by magical Hobbits who will use their tricksy powers to getz us to the airport.

The stewardesses dance a hearty jig as we take off, dodging the wailing Ringwraiths who are hunting for Sprite.

Oh wait, I'm not flying back to Texas - that's why it's not taking so long. What a wanker! Hand me a margarita, Frodo!

Thanks to my earlier flight I now have 5 hours to wait at Newark Airport. Thus the Hobbits have granted me more time to worry about souvenirs. I trawl around the duty-free, looking for inspiration (and not the perfume). I was going to buy something for my college-mates who took notes for me while I was away, but they haven't replied to my emails, so they can burn in hell like dogs.

However, I am unable to weasel out of getting something for my girlfriend. When I asked her what she wanted me to bring her, she answered "Just bring yourself". Clearly this is an intricate fem-code that I have yet to decipher. I am set for a fall.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I wasn't looking for souvenirs during my holiday - I just couldn't find anything. Walmart has a pretty limited stock, everything in Texas is too big to transport, and everything in Washington is too expensive.

And everything at the airport is too tacky. I admit defeat and buy a burger (for myself, not my girlfriend). Unfortunately it's not one of those 5 hour burgers, so I've got some time to kill. I write a college assignment about an alcoholic rabbit and work on my song lyrics. Here's what I've got so far - it's very Iron Maiden. It's about a writer who screws over his friends and his family for the sake of his work. Only the heavenly muses know where I get this stuff from...

I am the voice who will always be true to you,
I am the voice who will never stop loving you,
Sing me a song and I'll bear you through all of this pain,
And my fires will raise you again.

Here in the room where your pen has run dry
And the words are like ashes however you lie,
Here in your veins I will be build me a cradle
And I'll be your friend till the day that you die.

When the light comes, it burns away all of my senses,
My blood and my heart on the page, yeah,
It pardons my greatest offences,
I cry like an angel of rage.

When the light comes, it burns away all of my senses,
My family and lover betrayed, yeah,
It breaks through my hardest defences,
I stand like a God unafraid!

...yeah, anyway: I finally board the plane home, where I sit next to a mother-fucker-class fat mother-fucker who snores and has convulsions (Ladies, try to control yourselves, and keep reading). And in the aisle a squeaky blond kid walks up and down between his divided parents, asking for a smack.

I know now that I am England-bound, for everything slowly starts to get a bit shit. The guy in front of me reclines his seat - even Caligula might have shown some consideration - and I am forced to eat my dinner Pisa-style. And did I mention that I fucking hate airline food! Fucking bits of plastic of everywhere and a mouldy-ass lasagne that's only slightly more appetising than my testicles. Why must pleasure always be sacrificed for efficiency?

The film is not one I want to watch: "Harry Potter passes out a few more times and whinges about shit". I'm sure that kid's got a brain tumour or something. I ignore it and dodge my co-passenger's twitching limbs, like an epilepsy trainer. And when, after three hours the film ends and Harry Potter passes out again, they turn off the lights in the plane. I guess they want us to go to sleep now. Like drones we acquiesce. I drift in and out of conscious irritation, my legs curled like a yoga master.

The lights come back on at 8am. I guess they want us to wake up now. Those who are not quick enough to stir are hit in the face by a lukewarm croissant. As I eat it, the fat man smiles me and then addresses me in his Michael York voice.

'I wasn't snoring was I?'
'Only when you weren't screaming stuff about the Nazi party.'

The passengers around me bristle and twitch, like they have been collectively violated by moles, a Mexican wave of half-amusement and disgust.

Ah yes, I am on fire. But I know that over the coming days my resolutions will crumble, as they do after every holiday. These bold pronouncements I make on foreign soils: to be more chatty, more confident, more energised. How long will America leave a sheen upon me? Not long I think. The cold air of Bristol beckons with all the scent of frustration and discontent.

England, my wretched England, lovable and honeycomb. Like my parents, I would not have you so bounded by perfection. Rouse in me my desperate dreams, O England, and give me strength to hate you once again.

Texas: attempted. Washington: touched. England: ever.