Monday 23rd January 2017

If you want chaos, we got it! Duh duh duh duhhhhhh.

I was expecting a difficult day, and in the end it wasn't as bad as I feared, nor did I think that until we walked out to the plane that we would even be leaving Britain. But, we did, and I got to work, be it 19 hours later than expected.

The alarm went off at quarter to five, mist was patchy outside, and it looked like maybe I would be OK. Once up, I make coffee and go online to check travel news from Southeastern and London City, neither of which were working at that time, but both suggested no issues.

We left for the station at ten to six, reaching the station 5 minutes later. It was a bitterly cold morning, with the thickest of hoar frosts, everything looked like it had grown a white spiky beard over night. And on the platform it was like being in a deep freeze, the cold settling like a blanket onto the station and tracks. Other passengers arrived before the departure time, meaning it was a bit of a scramble for the prized seats, but I get one of the ones I like, so I am OK for the first part of the trip.

The train fills up, once having left Folkestone, it is standing room only, with mre people piling on at Ashford and Ebbsfleet. It began to get light, and although there was some mist, even along the river, it was clear enough suggesting that there might not be any issues after all.

I have breakfast at Stratford, but the station concourse is like a fridge this time of year, the poor girls serving look frozen already, and the tikka cheese melt I had wasn't warm all the way through, but warm enough. Anyway, the coffee was good.

I take the DLR to the airport, expecting chaos and found no queues, in fact it was quieter than normal. I drop my bag off, walk past the queues for Cityjet and go to immigration, where there are no lines at all, so settling in a seat by gate 3 to read and check mails. All seemed too easy, I smiled at myself for thinking there would be problems....

"Will passengers for flight BA 8210 for Billund please make themselves known" Oh oh.

I go to the desk, please go down to the ticket desk downstairs to find that the flight has been diverted, and that we have to go to Southend. Oh bugger.

Now, this had happened before, so it didn't come as a shock, that a flight with 30 people on board should land somewhere quieter, and we on the return flight should go there to join it.

I met up with a colleague, and so I was chatting to him whilst trying to ensure I got a place in a taxi to Southend.

Taxis were arranged, but as I waited, it became clear I had been forgotten about, so I speak up, and am taken out and put in a taxi on my own.

What can I tell you, I had been put in a tax, driven by a bloke who had never been there before, who was looking at his laptop as he drove for instructions, outside it was still so cold and misty, the ground and buildings were bleached white with frost. And in the taxi, I could not get the heater to work, so was cold.

We drove out through east London along the A13 (trunk road to the sea), past the docks, under the M25 and into the tundra of south Essex. Traffic was heavy, but we were making good time, talking about politics and the wind industry as we went along. Then at Benfleet we hit a traffic jam. Not hit it, but got stuck. 10 miles from the airport.

And so we crept along, inching every few minutes.

The clock ticked onwards. and I began to realise I was in the possession of few facts: what to do when I got to the airport. Whether there would be a plane waiting.

It was just as we reached the front of the queue of traffic at a huge roundabout that things took a turn for the worse. Or the driver did, as he took the wrong exit, heading in the opposite direction from the airport. And there were no turns offs.

On we went in the wrong direction, into Basildon. First chance we did turn round and go back, and from there it was a straightforward run to Southend, turning off to the airport, even if sometimes we did loook like we were running through a housing estate. But we saw the perimeter fence, showing that alough we could not find the terminal, it was around here somewhere.

We turn past a supermarket, and there were the signs to the drop off. I get out out and he is gone, on the look out for some jellied eels for his dinner. I walk to the terminal, to find it nearly deserted. I ask at the information desk, I am directed to a check in desk, and after checning my ticket, they take my case, and I can go upstairs.

You think that airports are the same, or the people that use them are the same, but no. Most of the people I mix with waiting at security were retired, as were those in the lounge beyond, and all waiting for a flight to join a cruise or maybe some winter sun in Spain. There was a lot of socks and sandals on show, and carrying shopping in plastic bags, shows the distrust of foreign food. Maybe.

Our flight was listed, but no gate or time was shown.

I wait.

Go to gate four we are told, so I go to gate fur, and find five other passengers waiting. Our names ar ticked off and we are allowed along the walkway out onto the pan to the plane.

Six of us spread out in the 29 seats, and we go through the usual preparations for take off. The engines start and we move off, going to the end of the runway before the engines roar and we thunder down the runway to lift into the murkey air, and leave the fog and pollution behind us. Above the clouds, the sky is clear and blue. We are served breakfast, at half one in the afternoon, and afterwards I snooze.

Denmark is warmer than Blighty for once, we bounce down on the runway, and there is the usual rush to be first standing up and off the plane. I repeat there are just six of us.

We join a flight from Turkey that had just landed, and so wait in line at immigration. My gad is waiting, so I take that, go to the car hire place and collect my keys, now no signature required, and go to find my BMW. It is a huge black estate thing, but with a lively engine and fun to drive.

I know the way, of course, and it is a short 40 blast to get to the motorway into Esbjerg, and as it was now gone fur in the afternoon, no point in going to the office, instead go straight to the hotel, pick up a bottle of coke and some peanuts before going to my room to collapse on the bed whilst I listen to the radio.

I walk down to the restaurant at half six, order cheeseburger and onion rings for dinner, and swiftly make that vanish.

And that was the excitement done.

Back in my room I put on a music documentary, lay in bed and fall asleep. An hour later I wake up when it is done. In cleaning my teeth and the usual stuff one does before bed, my brain wakes up and so sleep would not return for an hour. I take some drugs for my allergy and congestion, then go back to bed, and sleep quickly comes.

What a day.