Jools suggested we could have paid to go in the BA lounge, but for the two hour wait we had, there seemed little point. Instead we walked down to gate 12 to wait it to open, find a seat and read. Or in my case, try the free wi-fi.
I had said there is no point its almost impossible to register and then slow as heck. JUst to prove me wrong, Logan wi-fi needs no registering, just log on and use. And as quick enough to upload shots.
I take it all back.
The flight started to board at nine, and we were all on board by twenty past, the overhead bins bulging from overfilled cabin bags, and my camera bag.
I had somehow booked us in coach class again, meaning we were jammed in with another passenger on our row. But at the least the in-flight entertainment would distract me, right? Wrong. The video for our rwo was not working, even switching the system off and on again did not work! THis did mean nothing to take my mind off the flight, but turns out after two (small) bottles of wine and a chicken curry, I would actually sleep. Once I told the guy behind me that his knee was resting in the small of my back.
I awake as the plane crosses the Irish coast, with an hour left on the flight. For some reason the flight was less than six hours, meaning the lack of video wasn't that bad a deal.
I have a morning cuppa, then look out of the window as the plane drops height to admire the mist in the Welsh valleys, lit by the rays of the rising sun.
We are served a cuppa, the first tea I have supped since leaving home 15 days before, and it tasted darn good.
We landed and taxied to terminal 5, soon we were all getting off, the tired and sleepy, stumbling off like an army of the undead. We had to catch a shuttle to the main part of the terminal, meaning squeezing on the tiny train for the 30 second ride, but from the station it was a few steps to the passport gates, and we were back home.
Just the bags to wait for now. I am spoiled in that when I go to Denmark, there are only the 30 of us at most on the flight, not all have bags, and most times the bags are waiting for us in the terminal, not the other way round. But at LHR there is a wait, a long wait. But they do come, and we set off to find Ricky who has a new plan to avoid paying car park charges. We meet up outside departures, throw the bags in the back of his cab, and we are away.
Last leg.
Ricky is always in a good mood, but does share some of the issues he has with the long hours, mostly driving to Heathrow, Gatwick or one of the other airports. He has little savings, but does own his own place, with a mortgage, but says he has no pension. I'll just have the Government one he says. Only the Government will phase them out by the time your retire!
Eek.He didn't know.
So, we try to guide him, and fill in the 90 minute trip with financial advice.
But we arrive home, to find it warm in the lunchtime sunshine, heck, nearly hot. I open the house, write a shopping list, so I go shopping while Jools unpacks and loads up the washing machine.
Teso is mad as ever, but we need just about everything, so I get stuff for the weekend, but the crowds in the shop, just standing about talking and blocking aisles is just dumbfounding. Just glad to leave and go back home, and load the fridge with food, slice the tomatoes and cheese for insalata. As we feel we have pretty much lived of fried food and BBQ this last week at least.
We were both shattered, and once we had eaten, I lay on the sofa to listen to the footy, as being home I get to switch back to footy from baseball. As you do.
And Norwich win, coming from behind to beat Forest 2-1. Which was nice.
Needless to say, come eight in the evening, a combination of jelag and wine meant I could not keep my eyes open, so we called it a day.
Phew.
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