Ah, Heathrow. Where else can you whittle away half your life connecting to a flight in a different terminal? Not as long this time (1-1/2 hours, including 47 minutes of walking and a 17-minute bus ride) as last time (3-1/2 hours, including a 1-hour wait trapped in an underground lobby waiting for a bus to the other terminal, and TWO security checkpoints after that; throw that Evian you purchased for $3.39 at Dulles right down the drain).
Ah, Heathrow. Where else can you walk for half an hour without finding a restroom?
Only ten more minutes when you spot this sign! How do the elderly and infirm survive airports?
Heathrow is a shopper's haven--if you want to plunk down big bucks. Where else can you buy diamond earrings and watches between planes? 
Well, maybe Paris or Singapore.
Still an hour to wait after finally wending my winding way to Terminal 3. Try in some Gucci shades, anyone?
Or just find a comfortable spot to rest the knees and ponder the indignities of flying. And massage the black circles left over from a too-brief nap on the overnight flight.
So walk the endless halls of Heathrow, gazing longingly at the door to the World Club Lounge, settling for the crowded waiting room designated for the poor and hungry, wishing mightily for a quiet room and Serta Comfort Rest.
British Airways is a dream compared to US airlines. Leg room, smiling attendants, and a mini toothbrush on every seat. I had a whole row to myself.
But. The armrests don't go up all the way!
Ah, Heathrow. First leg complete.
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