Thursday 19th May 2022

Thursday.

I was awake before the alarm again. No idea what time, but was before five local time. Breakfast wasn’t until half six, but if I was sharp, I could have checked out before then, eat and then hit the road, Jack.

So, I lay in bed, checked the news on my phone before getting up and dressing, packed (again), went down to reception to check out, settle the bill. I know the night porter enough to speak to, so we chatted while he tried to get the computer and printer to wake up. After twenty minutes, I had paid and had a bill for the travel claim, so enough time to take my case to the car and be back in time for breakfast.

I didn’t have bacon, instead opting for chocolate spread on fresh rolls again, and two cups of coffee. Lovely. The restaurant was full of people in workwear or suits. Me I was in my cargo pants and film-themed t shirts.

I eat and drink up, then walk back to the car and fire up the horses. To add to the fun of the drive, there was added fog and mist. Which was nice.

Or wasn’t.

I know the roads well enough, even in the fog, so I cruise safely, turning off at exit 57 and taking the main road west to Billund. I park the car, regretting leaving the wonderful car, take out my case and bag, then walk to the terminal, dropping off the key at the office and finding no queue again at the KLM desks, so I drop my case off then join the long like for security, but it moved quickly, and I was through soon enough.

I wander round the duty free and see the bottles of 1963 late bottled tawny port I had been lusting over for four years. I thought, why not? So I asked for the case to be unlocked and I bought it.

Just like that.

Just had to explain it to Jools.

I found a table to sit at, and watched people coming and going.

Time passed. Slowly.

The gate was called, so I ambled down, and saw that people were already lining up to board the flight and yet the gate wasn’t open. Seems that there wasn’t enough space for all carry on bags and so some would have to have theirs put in the hold. So, some thought they could get round this by being first on. I, however, have a small computer bag, now bulging with a bottle of expensive port, but small enough to be put between my feet, so I wasn’t worried.

We board, and I settle into my seat, all bags went in the overhead lockers after all, and we all had our seats. No need to panic.

We take off into the cloudy sky, the ground soon lost from view in the layers of clouds.

The flight was short the crew only had time to pass out drinks, not to collect the cups and bottles, soon we were landing at Amsterdam, and if I was lucky I would have less than four hours here. If I was unlucky, it’d be longer.

We get off the plane, and I walk to the central hub, looking for somewhere to sit to see out the long wait. I find some stools at the back of a juice bar. I order a large orange juice and a coffee, then sit and read for an hour, before wandering through the immigrations and getting into the terminal the other side and get something for lunch.

I buy a sandwich and a small bottle of wine, then find some quiet seats and sit on my won for an hour, eating, drinking and reading.

My final stop was some chairs near to the gate, overlooking the airport and from there I could watch planes taking off. In the meantime, the flight was delayed by a further hour, so I settled down to read more of the orchid book.

Near to five, I went down to the gate where the Toulouse rugby team were waiting to board a flight to Leeds/Bradford. Each was the size of a small house, and yet looked fitter than a butcher’s dog. Beyond the ticket check were six doors from which buses ran to the parking slots and our flights.

I got on the bus after another ticket check, and we were carried out to the plane, which was now fully loaded, but there was now a staff shortage and there was no tugs to push the plane out of the slot. So we sat there and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Nearly an hour later, we were finally pushed out and the engines could start. We were finally on our way. And a short taxi and we roared off down the runway, and the short flight made the task of serving drinks and snacks even harder, but we all got drinks before we dropped down over the Thames estuary, getting lower and lower.

Back home.

Of course then we had to wait for a set of steps so we could get down, then wait in line at immigration, then stand around like spare parts for our bags. But they did come and I could walk to the DLR station for a train to Stratford. During the pandemic, trains have been doubled in length, so plenty of seats, so I travelled across east London.

15 minutes later a train to Ashford pulled in, which is where Jools would meet me, and then we were to find somewhere for dinner. And there was even seats on the Javelin too, and I finished the book as we crossed into Kent.

We arrived at five to eight, Jools was indeed waiting, so we walked to the car, loaded up and drove to the motorway, down one junction, then up Stone Street to the Granville, which is about the best pub round these parts for food.

I had fish and chips, Jools had crispy marinated pork, and both were excellent.

But we were both tired. Very tired. I drove us back through Bridge, onto the A2 and to home, where we pulled in at quarter to ten. With just enough energy to unload the car, make a cuppa before cimbing up to bed.

Phew.