Voyaging to Africa, with a 'Fulfilling Childhood Dreams' Layover

I'm leaving in 4 hours for Africa... I still can't believe it. I thought I'd be more excited, but I still haven't processed that in a few hours I will be basking in 120 degrees. Basking or baking. Either way.
The flight from Halifax wasn't too exciting.  I had a red eye-- departing at midnight and arriving at 10am. Despite this perfect opportunity to sleep, I watched He's Just Not That Into You, Taken, and Gran Torino. These gem films however were not the highlight of my day. That job was taken by one Mr. Patrick Stewart.

I went down to the Haymarket Theatre and took my seat before a beautiful, simplistic set waiting to see Waiting for Godot, starring Stewart and Sir Ian McKellan. I had heard from everyone I knew that this play was heinous, very boring, and one where 'nothing happens'. I read it in advance and kind of agreed.This play, Stewart and McKellan's Godot, was spectacular. they added in some comedy and were the perfect pair, a 'performance masterclass' as the local critics heralded. I can't say enough good things about this show, and would wish for everyone the opportunity to see it.
I would also wish for everyone the chance to stand at the stage door and meet Patrick Stewart. This man is my childhood hero and it was my first real goal in life it meet him. He was gracious and lovely, as was McKellan, who posed for pictures with some fans. I was unfortunately alone and couldn't get anyone to shoot a picture fast enough-- but, strangely, for once (perhaps the first time ever) I didn't really care about the pictures-- just meeting these incredible actors was enough. (Though, I did get a full cast-signed program).
That's about it for excitement so far-- I didn't sleep til 4am due to Stewart-fuelled adrenaline. But, it was worth the exhaustion today. I walked into Helmsworth to send some postcards and a package and had lunch at the Five Bells Pub. In true British form, it was all meats of some sort-- some sketch, some I'd heard of, no chicken. The pub owner-lady referred to me as goldilocks and made some porridge comment before I got away and sat down. I enjoyed a Foster's and the best chips of all time, before trekking back through the footpath, beside the prison, to my hotel. That's right. When the concierge said 'Oh, walk down that path by the prison for 10 mins' I made a guffaw sound. He just looked at me in blank, British fashion and said nothing. So I stopped laughing and headed down the path. They're right about the Brits--they don't joke. It was a prison. From the look of it, not a light security one either!
Off to Africa in 3 hours! I'll be in touch. Photos to come. Oh, and editing. Don't have time for that nonsense.