Marrakech = Mindfuck

Crammed into the flying shitshow that is EasyJet, we talked to a group of rowdy British holidaymakers heading to Marrakech. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s very relaxing there,” they assured us. Fortunately, it was anything but. After arguing with the airport taxi driver over the fare, we finally negotiated a price … Continue Reading →

London calling…

“This is the Piccadilly line to Cockfosters,” announced a women’s voice over the Tube loudspeaker. Being the immature idiots that we are, TD and I giggled every time. We had just landed in London and were taking the Underground from Heathrow airport to our friend Stephanie’s house. A quick tip … Continue Reading →