Everyone, except me, thinks it's a good idea to travel with babies.

Monday, 2:30PM. Luton Airport, England.

I’ve been at the airport for five hours, been up since yesterday, still have 2 hours before my plane leaves for Amsterdam. I missed my flight because the London trains just get cancelled all willy nilly. Had to buy a whole new flight. I’ve had Starbucks kick me out of their seating area because I didn’t have their product in front of me. This airport has no seated waiting area. I’ve had screaming/crying babies around me all day long. I’ve “slept” on the cold floor. Basically been living the life of a homeless person the past few hours.

Amazing how talking to an adorable British musician for 15 minutes can make all that pain go away...

My weekend started like any other horror film. In a car on the way to a beautiful mansion to party with a bunch of young people I didn’t know. The cab driver, who took us from the train to the manor, didn’t even miss his line: “You won’t get any cell service all the way out there....”

I did know two people... ish. Shout out to my boys John and Miles who I met my first night in London and who extended the invite to me. It was a risk for them too. I could have been the killer of this horror film.

It was an amazing weekend though. Very nice people, hot tubs, beer olympics, and steak. It was the waspiest weekend of my life. I’m glad I risked the potential of getting drugged and waking up in some weird, British swinger situation.

Here's some photos to make you jealous: