Thanks to doctor’s appointments, beer festivals and having friends stay, it seemed a very short weekend indeed. Even shorter as we had to drop Steffen and Brian off at Stanstead before driving round the m25 to drop me off, Jools then got to complete the full circuit of London, heading back to Dover one I was safely at Heathrow.
What would I have given for another day, or even half day at home? Instead, we get up at six, I have a shower, squeeze in the football on TV, pack and then it is time to have breakfast, load the car with all our luggage and hour people.
It was a wonderfully sunny day, one for walking up on the downs or along the cliffs, looking for orchid spikes maybe. But instead we are driving up the M20 towards Dartford and Essex. Traffic was still light, and there were no queues at Dartford, so we cross into Essex with no problem, drive along to the M11 and up to Stanstead.
It may be the airport where most of the budget airlines operate from, but the airport is clearly trying to squeeze every last penny from passengers, including a £2 charge just to drop passengers off, plus an eaxtra two pounds per minute over an initial ten minute period.
Steffen and Brian get out, we bid our farewells, and we have to drive out before we get any more costs, we pay the two quid and are heading back to the motorway, at which point I realise we both have had little to eat, so we try to find a Burger King. Not the best food, but better than McDonalds for sure. We find one at the junction with the motorway, so we go in and order whopper or a crispy chicken de luxe or something. Nasty dirty food, but good.
I decide that it would be easier to drop me off at the airport, then Jools could head home in daylight, and I could check in, find a place to set up and do some work. It was the quietest I have seen the M25 for some time, and it was almost a pleasure driving round to the M4 and then onto Heathrow.
I park outside terminal 2, hug Jools, take my cases and here I am again, on the move. I find the check in desk, and despite four hours until flight time, they take my case so I can go through security, I find a place in the pub, order a pint and settle down to answer some mails. Time goes quickly, and soon my gate is announced, so off I go, following the other passengers.
Outside there is a glorious sunset, the sky a riot of warm colours. By the time it is time to taxi, the sun has set and it is getting dark. We taxi out to the end of the runway, then up into the evening sky, circle over London, gaining height and then making our way along the north Kent coast, and finally over Thanet, with the lights of Margate, Broadstairs and Ramsgate pushing out into the English Channel, reaching out to France.
Over the Channel, across Belgium, and we are already dropping down for our approach to Frankfurt. We drop down, taxi to the terminal, and I have an hour to find the gate for the final flight to Dresden. Frankfurt is heaving with people coming and going, to make matters worse my boarding pass does not give a departure time, just a boarding time, and it takes me ten minutes to find my flight on the board.
I wait at the gate, and soon Henrik arrives from Billund, we are booked on the same flight, so we catch up, swap news, and soon we are boarding again for the 50 minute jump to Dresden.
We are the last flight of the day, and we have to queue up for our hire car, by the time we reach the front the lights are being switched off, door locked. It is eleven, and we are both shattered. We get a Fiat 500, which is a squeeze for us and our luggage. We program the sat nav and set off for the hotel, an half hour drive down the autobahn.
It is dark, or course, traffic is light, and the car is good to drive. Our keys are waiting for the room, we sign in and we can at last relax: it is just before midnight, and we have to be at the factory in seven and a half hours.
Monday.
After breakfast Henrik and I drive to the factory, all is ready, so once the customer arrives we get going with the opening meeting, Then we have a tour and the work begins. It might be a long day, so we split up and I pull rank and order Henrik back to the hotel to relax. Wagging my finger I tell him, and no work!
The day passes, we change over at half six, so Marco and myself drive to the hotel, meet for dinner, chat and the evening passes. Another day in paradise has gone.
Tuesday.
It seems there will be no need for night shifts, which is good, especially for Henrik who is spared the long boring nights waiting for stuff to happen. We are at the factory again at half eight, and so the whole business starts again on a new day.
But it is going well. Very well in fact, and the day passes in a fine haze for me, but I feel on top of things once again, in control. Oh dear, I hope a big fall is not coming.
We finish at five, drive back to the hotel through the dusk, and the fertile farmland to the hotel. I really just want to head to bed, but I have a couple of hours work to do, which I put off until after dinner.
There is a busy night of football back home, City play Charlton at The Valley, take a 2-0 lead into half time, cruising. Needless to say, they go to seep, concede two goals and things look bad until we grab a winner through Grabban with three minutes to go.
As soon as the match finishes, I switch off the computer and head to bed, I realise I have a sore throat, which means I have at least a cold coming. Bugger.
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