Thursday 22nd March 2019

Dateline: Billund.

I sleep well, even with aircraft warming their engines, but i am awake just after six, with more than enough time to shower, dress and pack.

It might be the last time I travel for thanks to Brexit, or it might not. We shall see.

I pay my bill and go for breakfast, having rolls and two coffees whilst an excited kid runs around, not knowing where to look next thanks to all the Lego-y goodness.

I drive the mile to the airport, park the car then walk to the terminal to drop my bag off and line up to go through security, and due to my perfect planning, there was no line, I just loaded my stuff in the tray and it got scanned and I was through.

Places to sit were of a premium, but as a budget flight going somewhere sunny was just boarding, there was suddenly lots of seats.

I wander to the gate with half an hour before the flight, take a seat and carry on reading the Danny Baker book. I don't see that a close colleague is on the flight, and fail to spot him even as I walk past him in his seat on the plane until he says "hello, Ian".

In a world of my own, as usual.

I read through the flight, except when my eyes drop closed, so I miss the endless carpet of cloud thousands of feet below the plane as we head back to Blighty.

Even England was hidden by clouds too, except Canvey Island, I could glimpse its gasometers through the clouds, and then was gone. We emerged from the clouds just as the plane crossed the river, skimming over the roofs of houses, a gentle bump and we were down.

We park at the far end of the terminal, which means walking down its entire length to immigration, my case was waiting the other side, but I find I had just missed the train to Stratford, and the eight minute wait meant I had an hour to wait at Stratford.

I wander round the shopping centre, looking for something to buy, but nothing grabs my fancy, so I sit in the concourse and read some more until it was time to go down to the platform.

The train is not full, but busy enough, so I sink into a seat and close my eyes as the trian pulls away and I am on my way back to Kent.

There was a surfeit of taxis at Priory, so I hail the first one to take me home, which it does, without indicating, except to pull over on Station Road. But I am home.

I give him a tip, you should use your indicators, mate, I say. No I don't, I give him a fiver and walk home where the two cats just carry on sleeping.

Sadly, I have meetings all afternoon, so after lunch I plug in, tune in and drop out. Three hours of people arguing is not the best way to spend the day. But it pays the bills.

And that is it for the day.

I unpack, then prepare chorizo hash , for one, then wait for Jools to come home before I cook her salmon.

We talk, eat drink and ben merry, then listen to the radio until nine, when we are both pooped, so go to bed. As you do.