Oh man. My last memories of being in London. Was there the week before Christmas 2019, right before Covid. Never been back. Because I caught norovirus there. Some of the sickest and nastiest crap I ever had.
All I remember is eating some fish & chips earlier in the day before heading to London City airport via the tube. I ain't right. I'm kinda dizzy, still keeping the steps going to push through. I'm in lines in the airport and by the time I'm past security there's a violent assault on my bowels, mouth, belly button ... everything remotely looking like an orifice on my body just started gushing 360° like a lawn sprinkler. I must have lost about 10 kilos in that toilet stall.
I get out, try to compose myself, and make it on the plane.
Except it's a turbulent flight... and as we approached Portugal, it turned into a bronco-busting air rodeo with Storm Elsa
https://www.dw.com/en/storm-elsa-devastates-southern-europe-five-dead/a-51755790
The turbulence is so bad, they had to wave off the plane ahead of us to make it to Lisbon and sent it to Faro in the Algarve.
I am projectile vomiting from the back row. People are being surprisingly nice and helpful, fetching unused airsickness bags behind every seat and passing them back to me as I am doing my best airborne Mr. Creosote impersonation.
I think I landed at about half the bodyweight I was when I left the hotel that morning.
Only back home did I realize I probably had norovirus ... and probably gave it to 200 people that day.