Thursday 29th August 2019

And so dawns the second and final day in Aberdeen.

Outside, at half five, dawn was just showing, although the skies were dark and overcast, with the promise of rain later.

I do my usual stuff in the morning, packing, and with one final check of the room, I go down to check out and meet Henrik for breakfast.

Again, we walk to the office, passing by the Shetland ferry being loaded. I still fancied a trip further north, but that really is a remote part of the country, and need more than a day or two to go looking around.

Into the office and start the business of the day.

We were done by one, there were more M&S sandwiches for lunch, a good chat and some smiles, now our work was done. A taxi is ordered, so at two we were ready to go.

The driver takes us through the centre of the town, and out through the suburbs, passing neat rows of cottages with colourful gardens, and blocks almost like tenements, sometimes next to each other. And all were built from local granite.

We pass the new Hilton Hotel, looking like some kind of crashed UFO, arrive at the airport.

I have no check in bags, so go to get my boarding pass while Henrik tries to battle the airport's IT to check in, drop his bags off.

He manages it after half an hour, so we walk through security, and find we have two hours to kill.

We have a coffee.

We walk down the walkway and find a pub, so we have an early dinner; I having steak and ale pie, which wasn't very full of either, and wrapped in limp pastry.

Time to board our flight comes round, Henrik first. He is to fly to Amsterdam to get a connecting flight to Billund. We wave goodbye.

I wait for my flight to come, along with dozens of other passengers. The plane arrives, and most queue up to be first to board.

I wait, sitting down while people stand, shuffling forward to queue more the other side of the gate.

I was last to pass through, wait at the end of the line until boarding begins.

I was near the front, and there was even room for my rucksack and work bag in the overhead locker. I sink into my seat.

We taxi to the runway; but there is a problem! There isn't enough oxygen for the pilots emergency supply.

We taxi back to the terminal so technicians could charge their systems.

We were now an hour late, and take off into the evening sun. I try to sleep.

We cruise into Heathrow at dusk, and there was me thinking the hard part was over.

We get off the plane and onto a bus, it takes us to the terminal. We rush through baggage reclaim, no need to go through immigration, and out into the arrivals hall. I am told that car rentals were via a shuttle bus, and go to stop 9 on level zero.

I follow signs to the central bus station; big mistake, I had gone to the wrong bus station, wasting ten minutes. So I have to go back to the main terminal, find the correct stop, then have to wait ten minutes for an Avis bus to arrive.

The bus then has to battle through the traffic on the congested road system to get to the main tunnel, then down the A4 to the rental lot.

I was told, as I had a membership card, not to go into the office, but to row B where I could collect my keys.

Only they were not expecting me. They had to wake the computer, then the trainee Mr Avis walked through the process. Half an hour passed.

It was now nine, and home was 90 minutes away. I thought.

I drive onto the main ring road, follow the signs to the motorway which then vanish at the next junction.. So I head west and in ten minutes I am driving on the on-ramp. Home was nearly in sight.

And being late in the evening, the road was quiet, so I made good time, and was enjoying myself.

I turned onto the M26, and still, going well. Then at the end, two lanes narrowed to one, and the jam started.

Seems that both the M26 and M20, which met two miles further on, were being funneled into a single lane through overnight roadworks.

We crawled along, queue jumpers, jumping the queue meaning it took even longer.

And once in the roadworks we then had to get onto the other road and into another single lane, then crawl along for 5 miles.

It was now half ten.

And I was tired.

The roadworks ended and so I could speed up, and I realise there was no traffic around me at all. I cruise south through Ashford to Folkestone, then up and over Shakespeare to Dover and Home.

I arrive at twenty past eleven. Jools was up, so she makes me a brew and I have a Belgian snack of sprinkles on toast.

Worse than a trip from Denmark and worse than a train back too.

I crawl into bed at midnight, cows brayed in the dark.

I slept like a log.