I cross-stitched a bit before napping.
Breakfast was quite a bit better than dinner, but I imagine that's because it's a lot harder to screw up a bagel and banana.
Our flight landed at Heathrow-London about an hour early. While trying to find the terminal for my flight to Oslo, I couldn't help but notice that Heathrow has pretty much only one sign--"Baggage Claim." I interpret that to mean "Get the fuck out."
I took a bus to my next terminal and went through security again (where my nipple rings set off the dinger) and am currently waiting in the general lobby.
You see, at Heathrow, they don't tell you where your gate is until approximately 15 minutes before your flight leaves. Then it's a mad, Ben-hur like dash to sprint down the terminal just in time to watch your (empty) flight take off the runway. I think the Brits still like a bit of the old ultraviolence.
Only 300 minutes to go...