Friday 17th June 2016

Oh yes, the day to go home. It seems I have been waiting for you all week

And, as there are no morning flights into London City, I have a lunchtime flight to Heathrow to look forward to.

I check the news on line and see there has been a derailment at Paddington, I think nothing of it. I check my work mails, fire some replies off, then have a shower and try to get all my stuff into the overnight case, including my rain jacket, as outside it is like a summer's day out there!

I am packed, have a shower, put on some clean clothes, and I am ready, it is quarter to eight, and I have three and a half hours to get to the airport. After checking out, I go for breakfast only to find there is no bacon again! Chef's cooking it, I'm told. I wait ten minutes then have the same as yesterday, grab my bags and walk to the car.

It seemed such a grand day, driving to the airport would be great, in an Audi A3, in the sunshine with the windows down, no? No, as soon after getting onto the motorway fog rolled in, and visibility was down to about 500m, and even got chilly.

Up the road to Grindstead, I managed to get past the slow moving cars and trucks, without putting my life in too much risk. Still, it was fun in the Audi, hurtling along at only a gnat's crotchet above the speed limit.

I was at the airport at just before ten, so once I had parked up, dropped the keys off at the office, it was exactly two hours until flight time: perfect.

I even braved the long line into security, as it was such a busy time, there would be flights all day. Anyway, I had little else to do. And once through I find a table, check mails yet again, and am all caught up. I wander round the duty free shop, and I spot a grinder full of pink salt. Now, I suppose you wonder I would want pink salt, well, a few months ago we did a team building thing and the hotel had smoked salt in the kitchen, and I have been looking for it ever since as it was wonderful. Anyway, there was half a kilo of salt, from the Himalayas, so €22 seemed reasonable, I picked up a couple of bars of chocolate too.

It was boarding time, and I time it right to walk through the gate and straight onto the plane where I have a row to myself once again. A friend had reminded me on Faceache that arriving in Heathrow meant getting into London via Paddington where the derailment was. I panicked, but then you can find out anything on the interwebs, and I find there was a reduced service, so all should be OK. If crowded.

I read some of my football book, Kicking and Screaming, about the early days of the professional game from people who were there. It passed an hour of the flight as we flew down the North Sea before turning over Southend. The pilot warned us about storms in the west London area, and as we circled above the City, we were flying through clouds, with the plane lumping and bumping about, it was quite exciting.

Finally, we turn onto final approach, break through the clouds to see the playing fields of Eton and Ascot racecourse before we got lower and lower and finally touching down.

Phew.

We taxi to Terminal 5, then wait to get off. As usual there is the scramble to get off, but it is all pretty relaxed. I get in the wrong queue at immigration and have to wait half an hour to be seen, but this is fine as once through my bag is just tumbling out onto the carousel. Yay.

A dash through the arrivals hall, down the lift to the station only to find I had a 16 minute wait for the train, none of your trains every 8 minutes which I am used to at London City. And soon enough the platform was filling up due to the bigger gaps between trains. Anyway, I get on, get a seat, and once we leave Terminal 3 station, there is pretty much no room what with people and cases. Its all so unfriendly, warnings about what tickets you can and can't use, and warnings if you have the wrong ticket. Not a very welcoming experience, but then this is Britain that seems to dislike anyone different. Even people visiting who would spend money!

At Paddington, there are people everywhere waiting for trains. I see the derailed train which had ended up crashing into an electricity support, well done all round, really. Up the steps and along to the Circle Line platforms, and squeeze onto an already full train with my case and salt grinder.

I enjoy the trip along the four stops to Kings Cross; Baker Street and Great Portland Street are two of the most attractive stations on the network, and I always enjoy seeing them as we pass through.

I have 20 minutes to wait for a train, only due to a lightning strike, there are no trains beyond Ashford, so I try to call Jools to see if she'll come and pick me up. She will.

So, onto the train, which is also pretty full too, odd for an early afternoon service outside of the rush hour. Anyway, I have a seat on my favourite side of the train, ready to check off the points of interest as we zip through.

I get off at twenty to three, and Jools is driving round as there is no parking spaces due to the chaos caused by the lightning. She sees me before I see her, so she stops beside me so I can throw the bags in and we can drive home. Rain falls steadily as we potter down the motorway, no need to hurry as its the weekend now and we can relax.

We can relax even more once we are home, make a brew and make one of the chocolate bars vanish which we can do in about three seconds. For dinner, I make potato bread to go with the insalata caprese, and pop that in the oven to cook whilst I cut up the tomatoes and cheese. And it was a triumph of course, washed down with a glass or three of the cheapest red.