Brian lingered as the other passengers collected their effects, if only to alleviate the aching from having remained seated and confined for so long.

As parts of his body tingled from the blood trickling back into them, and others stopped throbbing, he invited those who looked at his questioningly to pass before eventually joining the stuttering line if people disembarking.

Heathrow was not exactly an exotic destination compared to the itinerary they had in store, but a lung full of different air, and the chatter of the "original" English accent all combined to give Brian a mild sort of excitement.

The outfit he had travelled in was pretty mild, his long sleeved plaid shirt, his jeans and his somewhat clunky boots. But his hairstyle, especially alongside Casey, drew the occasional stare from the more well manicured.

While Brian was clearly a tourist, he was an especially unabashed and open one, having embraced the role.

He stared up and around as he walked towards the baggage claim, occasionally dodging another more hurried traveller.

Seated near the back of the plane, Casey stretches his muscles and wiggles his feet before trying to rise. Up ahead, he sees a big guy with long hair and a beard step into the aisle after most people have made their way past his row. Another American, I bet.

Clutching his customs declaration, he reaches into the overhead bin to retrieve his hat and jacket. Shrugging thejacket onto his shoulders, he carries the hat as he shuffles along with the other passengers. He pauses at the front and a stewardess hands him his guitar case with a little smile and flashes him the peace sign. "Right on," he drawls, nodding and grinning and returning the gesture. Seems like England will be a pretty groovy place.

He exits the plane and finds the signs directing him to baggage claim and customs.

Casey and Brian walked through the jet bridge and then followed the long walk to the border controls. And it was a long walk... there were even moving walkways for those wishing to save their legs. Several hundred people were all moving down the bridge towards immigration and soon enough they were hitting the lines for those seeking admission into the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

Early on a Sunday morning, they were not likely to move that quickly. Especially for those who were not British passport holders.

This might not even be the longest wait at a border on this trip. But it was likely to the only one with a child throwing a tantrum directly in front of Casey.

As the child's mother tries to calm him down, Casey begins to wink at him and smile. He guesses the kid's about the age of his sister's youngest, around three, and that's how he distract's Benjy when he gets fussy. When the kid starts looking curious, Casey adds some goofy faces to the mix. It makes the time pass more quickly. Finally, the kid starts to smile and make faces back.

When the young mother turns and catches Casey at the game, he smiles and shrugs. She smiles back. Give them half a chance and people are great.

The line shuffles on.

It was clear from the faces of the immigration officers that they didn't particularly want to be here on this Sunday morning. Some of them were engaging in fairly long and probing discussions with people at their desks... and Casey wasn't sure why.

Then he heard a couple of men standing in the line next to him speaking in what sounded like... Russian? A quick glance over at them confirmed it; one of them was holding a green passport with the letters 'CCCP' on it. The initials, in Cyrillic, for USSR.

A further look at the people in front showed a bunch of people who reminded him of the locals from his time in Vietnam and also a group of Slavic looking people.

A public address system reminded people to have their passports and visas ready. As Americans, Casey and Brian didn't need one to enter the UK... but the Soviet citizens who had come in one another flight did.

It would take twenty more minutes before Casey and Brian found themselves each called to a passport control desk.

[OOC: I'll do the discussion with the immigration guy in the next post I do here]

Casey waits patiently, quietly singing "Hazy Shade of Winter" under his breath.

"Time, time time, see what's become of me
While I looked around for my possibilities
I was so hard to please
Don't look around
Leaves are brown
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter
Hear the Salvation Army band
Down by the riverside, there's bound to be a better ride
Than what you've got planned
Carry your cup in your hand
And look around
Leaves are brown, now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter"

In reply to Casey Nelson (msg # 10):

Casey is summoned to the desk where a black uniformed immigration officer takes his passport and examines it.

"How long are you planning to stay in Britain, Mr Nelson?" he asks.

“Only a day or two, sir.” At the sight of a uniform, Casey’s military instincts kick in. "I'm joining a tour group leaving for France and parts east, all the way to India."

The officer continued to look over the passport, then reached for his stamp and applied it to an empty page.

"Well, I wish you all the best of luck, Mr Nelson."

He handed the passport back. It was now a case of going to the luggage belts and waiting for his backpack to turn up.

The display on the board indicated that another flight had come from Tokyo via Moscow; their baggage was due to come in one of the other belts.

As he arrived, the belt started to whir and an array of cases started to come down onto the circular belt. No sign of the backpack yet. This was part of the lottery of international air travel and something he would not be experiencing again for a while.

He snagged his good old duffel from they conveyor, checked the lock, then hoisted it to his left shoulder. His guitar case swung from his other hand.

He followed along with the other arrivals and their welcoming friends until he saw the sign for Ground Transport. He entered there and sought the coach service that would drop him at his hotel.

All the while, he kept watching for the tall, blond American guy from the plane. It wouldn’t hurt to spend his first evening in London with someone simpatico. Otherwise, he’d end up in some pub or hotel bar on his own.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:44, Thu 22 July 2021.

The coach service wasn't going to actually drop him at his hotel, it would instead travel to Airways Terminal, which was a short walk from the place where he was actually booked. But considering how much time he had just sent sitting on a plane; a walk would probably do him some good.

It also wasn't the sort of coaches that Casey was used to back in the US. What turned up was a white and blue double decker vehicle with the BOAC logo with its the 'Speedbird'. A sign in the front window said "London" and the passengers were filing onto it through the single door next to it.

The driver was smoking a cigarette, tapping the ash out through the driver side window onto the tarmac. He was of course sitting on the right... something that Casey would need to remember at least for today. It would be embarrassing to get run over because he'd not looked the right way when crossing the road.

The blond American guy did not seem to be present.

OOC: The bus in question is a Leyland Atlantean, rather than the iconic Routemasters, which you can still see on charter services in the UK; people hire them for weddings for example. The summer heritage service in Central London was a victim of the pandemic.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:24, Tue 27 July 2021.

Casey gawked unabashedly as England slides past the bus, excited to finally be on the ground. At the Airways Terminal, he collected his gear and disembarked. Consulting a large map on the waiting room wall and glancing at the letter in his pocket that confirms his reservation, he oriented himself and emerged to walk through the streets of London in search of his hotel.

England swings like a pendulum do
Bobbies on bicycles, two by two
Westminster Abbey, the tower of Big Ben
The rosy-red cheeks of the little children

Well, he couldn't see Big Ben or Westminster Abbey, but he was walking down Buckingham Palace Road with his duffel on his shoulder and his guitar case in hand. How cool is that? He felt like Dylan or Paul Simon.

Turning down Pimlico Street, he came to Lower Sloan Street, following that to Sloan Square. The square was thronged with young people in twos and threes. Girls in mini-dresses and bell bottoms, long, straight hair wafting on the breeze. He fit right in with the long-haired guys in jeans and leather jackets, strolling past the Venus Fountain and the cross and sword memorial to the dead of the two world wars.

He found Symons Street and followed its curve to Draycott Place, finally arriving at the Draycott Hotel. Yeah, it's expensive, but Casey figured it will be his last luxury until the trip ends in the Orient. He checked in and was shown to a small room. He kicked off his boots and lay down on the soft bed for just a minute.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:26, Thu 12 Aug 2021.

Most of the shops were shut bar some small newsagents; this was a Sunday after all; but he might have a chance for some shopping on Monday morning before having to head to Victoria. The part of London he was in was filled with red-brick buildings, although they needed a bit of a clean in places, with grime from car fumes having built up over the decades.

The 1890-built hotel was perhaps getting a bit out-dated; or retained its classic style, depending on your point of view. The smartly dressed concierge was politely and courteous, although Casey got the feeling that his hair style wasn't the man's personal cup of tea.

The room was a single room with an en-suite bathroom, a table and a tray with a bottle of mineral water.

There was also a radio, with the different station bands highlighted. From this particular set, you could get four different BBC national stations, as well as broadcasts from  places like Luxembourg, somewhere called Hilversum, Helsinki, Lyon and Budapest.

As Casey was lying down, the door handle started to rattle...

[OOC: No minibar, sadly. They've not arrived yet.

Also, Radio Luxembourg played a big part in getting the Sixties swinging in Britain, broadcasting pop music that the BBC did not. With the pirate stations forced off the air, those were the two main options. The Heath government has just passed new legislation allowing for commercial British radio to be set up, but it won't be until October 1973 when LBC starts.

Hilversum is in the Netherlands; this was the Dutch English-language station]
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:58, Thu 05 Aug 2021.

Casey woke in the soft light of evening. He switched on the radio and found a station playing rock, He showered and put on clean socks and briefs and a fresh gray t-shirt but otherwise the same clothes he traveled in. He went out to see if he could find someplace to get fish and chips and a pint.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:27, Thu 12 Aug 2021.

Casey managed to find several pubs on the nearby King's Road, some of which looked like they had been there for decades. The one that looked cheapest from the menu prices was a place called The Red Lion, which was doing a deal called "Fish, Chips and a Pint for Fifty Pence".

Stepping inside, the air was already pretty thick with cigarette smoke and a bunch of ageing regulars give him only a cursory glance before returning to their own conservation. In the corner, a television was showing some people talking about a cricket match. Apparently, the game had been abandoned due to bad weather.

At the bar, a young woman of about twenty was standing pulling pints in a low-cut T-shirt and with a blonde perm. An old bearded gentlemen was trying and failing to flirt with her. The time was 6.25pm according to the clock on the wall.

Casey stepped up to the young barmaid. "I'd like the special, please," he told her, extending a twenty-dollar traveler's check.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:28, Thu 12 Aug 2021.

The barmaid looked at the cheque with abject confusion.

"Sorry, what on Earth is that?" she asked, then took it from Casey to examine it further. Then she put it down.

"You got anything else? Because I'm not taking that."

Casey was dumbfounded.

"What? You're kidding me, right? It's an American Express Traveler's Cheque, good anywhere in the world since, like, forever. Nomad herdsmen in Mongolia accept them. Even the commies know they're good. Don't you watch the commercials with Karl Malden? 'Don't leave home without them?'

"This is worth like, what? Four pounds or something? Come on."

Casey started to search his pockets for cash, putting the coins he had gotten in change when he bought his coach ticket on the counter, along with an assortment of American quarters, dimes, nickels.

[Not sure how much change he'd have gotten for the bus fare out of one or two twenty-dollar cheques.
And I know the slogan and Karl Malden are slightly anachronistic (1975), but I couldn't resist.]
This message was last edited by the player at 12:43, Thu 12 Aug 2021.

About £7.90. The bus fare was apparently 30 new pennies. Or about £3 in today's prices. The off-peak contactless cost today on the Tube from Heathrow Terminals 2 & 3 to Victoria is £3.30.

Also, many smaller stores in the UK don't take AMEX cards because of the higher processing fees, although that is slowly changing.

"Well, I'd take it if I was going to Spain... but we're going to Bognor this year."

Casey not only had coins, he had bank notes. He had been given his change in British money, including one white-and-blue five pound note and two white-and-green one pound notes. On these, the portrait of the 46-year-old Queen Elizabeth II was visible.

She was also on the coins and the barmaid found the coins that she needed for the exact amount.

She took a glance at the clock. 6.27pm.

"S*d it, it's only three minutes. What drink do you want?"

Bognor refers to Bognor Regis, an at-the-time highly popular seaside resort on the South Coast and home to one of the three surviving Butlin's holiday camps in 2021.

The barmaid is technically breaking the law as she's not allowed to serve booze before 6.30pm...

Finally, a history of old British banknotes: https://www.bankofengland.co.u.../withdrawn-banknotes

Casey took a pint of ale and retired to a table to await his meal.

Didn't try using a card (figured that might be a problem), but was giving her a traveller's cheque, but he got served, so all's good.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:35, Mon 23 Aug 2021.

The fish and chips were welcome, as he hadn't had anything to eat since the plane landed. They seemed to him to be properly prepared and enjoyable. The ale was a bit bitter but refreshing. He ordered another pint and sat back to absorb the atmosphere of a real English pub.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:35, Mon 23 Aug 2021.

The regulars were starting to come in at this point, mostly men of late middle age and older. There was one woman of what the British termed the Blue Rinse Brigade, who came in with a small dog of indeterminate breed, then started on the sherry.

The conservation on the table next to him was about the dockers' strike; a nearby shop had been unable to get any tobacco in and the pork situation was looking a bit dicey as well. Then, seeking to lighten the mood, one of the regulars solicited opinions on the casting of Roger Moore as the new James Bond.

Moore's casting was announced the previous Tuesday.

Casey won’t try to intrude on other conversations. He just enjoys being among people whose conversation he understands. He anticipates that won’t be common in the coming weeks. Besides, despite his nap, he’s still a bit fatigued.

Shortly after he had finished his dinner, an old man with a wispy beard and very little hair on his head come over; the pub was getting pretty full now.

"Mind if I sit here?" he said, revealing a mouth with teeth possibly in the single digits.

"Certainly," says Casey, shifting slightly to show that he is willing rather than to actually accommodate the man, "My name's Casey Nelson. I'm from the USA."