The alarm went off at at six in the morning, that is really way too early. I had a shower, changed into my power suit (ha) and headed down to check out and find breakfast. I found the lower floor of the hotel full of track-suited rowers, all looking young and lithe in lycra or in ill fitting sports clothing, and coaches with faces sour enough to turn fresh milk. I sit on a table between the Serbian and Croatian teams, wondering if I did the right thing there. There was no resumption of hostilities, so I had a couple of coffees and some fruit before trying to get a place on one of the early shuttle buses to the airport.
After some confusion in why a ticket was needed to board the 'free' bus, but I got one from reception and soon was heading back to the airport and where I hoped I would find my manager so we could travel to the office together. After de-busing and walking into the food hall, I see him just sitting down exactly where he said he'd be, so I grab a coffee and join him, before we try to work out the tickets and additions needed for the ride down to Rotterdam.
The train was full, but we got seats and soon the identikit countryside passing by, with buildings and fields on an apparent ever-repeating scene. One part of this area in Holland looks pretty much the same as every other. I'm sure I'm wrong, but fields, giant glasshouses, windmills, drainage ditches and small picturesque towns rolled by. Ho and indeed hum.
At Rotterdam Centraal, we had to change to another local service for the ride to the suburban station where the meeting was to take place.
After the meeting, we have to get back to the airport, as we both have evening flights, mine at just before eight, and J's was at ten. So we walk back to the station, and a train is just pulling in, so we jump on that and change at Centraal before riding the inter city service upto the airport. I find the BA desk to check in and pass through customs and I'm in the departure area. J joins me, and we retire to a huge bar on the first floor and order a meal and an ice cold pint and discuss the matters that arose during the day. Sigh. Its going to be a long slog thats for sure.
At quarter past seven, I set off to find the gate, just to make sure I don't miss the flight, nothing would be worse than having to spend a night in naughty Amsterdam.......
We get on and I have a window seat, so we take off into the light of the setting sun, and once drinks are served, I sip a glass of red wine as we cross the North Sea and within 50 minutes are dropping through the clouds and into LCY.
At least we have little wait at the gate, and the queue at immigration was short, so withing ten minutes of touching dwon, I was on the DLR heading for Stratford. I have a twenty minute wait on the sparse platform, but the train rumbles in on time, and I get a seat so relax for the run to Ashford where I have to change onto a local service. THankfully, the Dover train was waiting, and within two minutes of me getting on, it pulls out and into the Kentish night and Dover. It was now dark, and little could be seen until we run into Folkestone where the usual mix of drunks and late night workers get on or off.
Jools is waiting at Dover, so we head off where she makes me a huge cuppa. And that is another day done.
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