My first (April) night in Londinium, awaiting delivery of Bug-eyed A-H Sprite, in Shepherd's Bush:
Forewarned (forget how) I had a stack of Shillings (that is a Cap, innit?) by bed to feed the miserly, also tiny gas heater by bed. Many of these were indeed gone by morning.. the drill in-half-sleep: Mastered.
Just to feel ~~"warm" within provided bedding + coats/towels, whatever added-atop.
('Course being young and invulnerable + anticipation ... I just called it travel-colour)
All the rest: eminently sensible koans, esp. including Teh Tea (as never tasted so Guuud (on a subsequent jaunt) as at Heathrow,) de-planed {{an Ugh-word}} and in a long airport walkway at 5:30-fucking-AM!
..when a nice lady bearing a tray of mugs asked, ~~ Care for a cuppa, love?. It came in a Real china-cup! to be left wherever, when done. Now There's Class!, I wot.
Barring [in some ugly Drumpf-next] Escape from New York Dis-USA scenarios, I see that I have to rob piggy bank and get to Blighty again, maybe the I.O.M. TT? before/after The Pennines, etc.
(Unless I yield to the perception that, now ALL bikes are *T.F.F.O. and, 200+ mph Isle/Man laps are ..simply horrorshow) y'know? Ta
* Yank transl: Too Fast for Owner, a common AD-addendum-as-to-Why--back in the day, in The Motorcyle /aka The Blue one--to any used Vincents for sale therein.