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V samolete British Airways dayut gazetu Sunday Mail. I tut ya nachinayu chuvstvovat# sebya na britanskoi territorii v polnoi mere: tori, vigi, Lady Di (Lenna, ya tebe sohranila), Archbishop of Kenterburry protiv Walta Disneya... wait, wait, wait, a eto kto? A-ha, Paul and Heather in Kerala. Oh well. Gazetu ya vzyala s soboi na tverduyu pochvu.
V samolete govorlivaya sosedka-amerikanka povedala: "korotkii" polet -- eto anything do 3h chasov. Kormyat 1 raz, TV ne pokazyvayut. Dlinnyi -- eything ot 3h. Sootvetstvenno, StP <--> London, 2.55, korotkii; Moscow <--> London, 3.05, dlinnyi. I tut mne prishla mysl', chto maybe nado bylo leter' cherez Moskvu.
Vprochem, kormili vpolne syedobno, hotya na moyu pros'bu o chem-nibud' bez ploti ubiyennyh zverey otvetili, chto nady bylo zakazyvat' zaranee. Nu da i bez togo bylo, chto pozhevat'.
Samoe glavnoe: menya ne ukachalo!
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We do what me must because we can for the good of all of us, except the ones who are dead. 
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