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Saturday, February 21, 2004

I still haven't escaped the food. I'm now in the Virgin Clubhouse at Washington airport, with three hours to eat free comestibles before the connecting flight to Heathrow. I've already managed chicken strips and my second tenderloin steak in three days. Then they forced cake and ice cream on me. And now they've stocked the bar with free home-made cookies. The only thing stopping me from exploding is the fact that every time I return from the other side of the clubhouse with a plate full of cookies, Big Sis says "oooh, can I break a little bit off..?", then proceeds to snap them all in two and eat half.

I'm also a bit concerned about the middle aged American Virgin woman who's serving us. She's treating me like a long lost son. She's already fattened me up and offered me a shower, and she keeps patting me on the back every time she brings me a drink. Next she'll be doing my laundry and telling me to wrap up warm.

Oh, and there aren't any reality TV stars in this Virgin Clubhouse. It's just not good enough.