Too many damned foreigners.
I'm sitting now in this Internet cafe, and I've already heard about 6 different languages - and not a one of them in English.
And it's been like this since we got here.
We get off the airplane at Heathrow, we walk up the concourse to reclaim our baggage, and what do we see out the concourse windows?
747 after 747 after 747 - which would be fine by itself - the 747 is one of the great creations of humankind - the 747 is a work of art, as far as I'm concerne - but it was what was writ on the hulls of these noble and majestic sky-fish that so riled my feathers ...
... "Air France", "Air India", "Air Canada", "Qatar Airways", "PIA" (Pakistan International Airlines), "Air New Zealand", and most vile of all, "Iran Air" (Iran Air had disguised their 747 to look exactly like the other ones, but I saw through their tricks).
When we got out into the main terminal, you could hardly hear yourself think for the clamor of foreign tongues. The place looked like Mos Eisley - costumes and colors and smells from every part of the empire. It took all my determination and world-traveller's guile just to order a coffee from the terminal coffee lounge bar cafe. Why such a trial to order a mere cup of the precious-brown-broth-that-gives-life-and-hope? Because behind the counter was this blond chick from Norway or Holland or someplace who refused to speak without a thick accent.
Luckily, we were rescued by a friendly London cabbie. We were reassured when, in the course of our obligatory taxi-chat, he began to openly discuss some of the problems with the "coloreds".
Or, as he said it, "coloureds". It doesn't matter how you spell it though. They're all the same to me.