Friday 24th April 2014

Wednesday.

The hotel in Ijmuiden was full of Japanese or Korean tourists. I had bet them the evening before when all of them, and their luggage, tried to get in the lift I was trying to go up to my room in. THat there were just a dozen steps to reception which they had to climb, no, we must use the lift, they must have thought. In addition, what is that fat man doing in our lift when we want to go out 2m to the reception level? In which case, I decided I would try to be out of the hotel before they found the breakfast bar.

And so at dawn, or something close to it, I was awake, had a shower and packed. Downstairs I paid the bill, loaded the car and went for breakfast, just as the first of the tourists arrived looking for food. I have nothing against tourists, certainly from neither Japan or Korea, just don't interfere with my morning schedule. That's all.

After breakfast of cereal and a roll with sprinkle. Yes, sprinkles. When in Holland you eat sprinkles on your bread, it am the law. And I like to blend in, unless it is eating pickled fish or something like that.

At the office it was a day of fighting fires, I can't remember what my plan for the day was, but it seemed out of control from the outset. And got worse.

I drew the line in the sand, and said at two I was going to the airport for my flight home. And on time I switched the computer off, and loaded the car, said goodbye to everyone. And I was off. Holland is well served by roads and railways, and yet the roads are crowded. Very crowded. I decided to take thinks easy, and just drive at 100kmh. Seemed to work. Near the airport there are roadworks going on, been going on for years apparently, and still not done. So you have to drive past the airport, past another part of it, turn round at a junction and drive past it all again. It works, I get to the parking garage, drop the keys off, the car is checked, and then just the 2km hike to departures. At least most of the way is via travelators.

I have checked in, and have printed my boarding pass, and so all I have to do is hand my baggage in. Now this is done by self-service, and yet seems to require more staff than before. Seems to be the modern way, but I drop the case off, it is scooped away by a robot, and I can go through immigration, and from there it is a ten minute walk to the gate, passing the Irish bar.

Only I don't pass the Irish bar, no I go in, order a pint of red and a plate of nachos, which seemed a bargain at €10. Only it was in competition with the travelodge at LCY for providing the worse plate of nachos in Christendom. How is it possible to mess nachos up? Should be a crime. The cheese was cheese slices, you could tell this as they had melted in clear squares on the plate and doritos. I munch my way through them, watching the news on CNN guessing what they were talking about by the Dutch subtitles. The great horseradish shortage I warrant.

I treat myself to a second pint.

I walk to the gate, and realised I needed to find the facilities. Darn you beer!

The flight is called, all the tiny-minded folks fight to be first on the half full plane. Why? I amble on, and fall asleep in my set. Put your blind up, seat rest down. I am told.

Another one of those taxis longer than the flight jobs, as we seem to go round and round Schipol, until we find a runway, the engines roar, and off we spring, and into the air. My camera was in the case above me, something I would regret over London, but for now Holland is hidden beneath thick cloud.

Blighty hoves into view below with a glimpse of Clacton. Oh, lovely Essex. We cross the Thames, and skirt round south London before the usual turn at Crystal Palace and again at Battersea. I have wonderful views as we fly low over London, and with a final turn over London Bridge, I had a great view looking down the length of The Shard. It was wonderful, but you have to take my words for it, as I said, did not have my camera. It was like four feet above my head, but hey ho.

Down we go, bouncing onto the runway. At least we can get off pretty much straight away as there is no valet case thing. They even open the rear door, so I am one of the first off, walk down to immigration, show my passport at the machine and I am through. I have to wait ten minutes for my case, and in doing so I miss the train that would have gotten me to home 40 minutes earlier. I climb up to the DLR station just in time to see my last chance to catch the earlier train, another train in this case, leave the station. IN the 8 minutes to the next one, my connection at Stratford would arrive and leave.

It does mean I have the chance to grab a coffee and a cookie before my train. I hope that as this train just goes to Dover it might not be as full as the usual ones I catch. WRONG, it is rammed with people, we on the platform just get on, me with my cases. I have to ask someone sitting in the luggage rack to get off so I can put my cases up.

But we are all on, and we are going home. Or I am.

At Ashford most get off, and I get a seat, and so watch the spring countryside roll by as we get to Folkestone, then along to Dover. Jools is waiting. Time to go home.

We have cheese and beans on toast for dinner, and half a bar of chocolate each. We had each other. And cats. And I was home.