Friday 18th October 2024

Time to go home.

And I had planned well, allowed plenty of time so I would get to the airport in plenty of time, just as long as I woke up.

I set the alarm, and it went off at half five. I was up, washed, dressed and packed and on the road in a loaded car by six.

The sat nav took my via some very dark and twisty back roads, so much so that after the third turn down a narrower darer lane, I began to suspect I had put the wrong destination in.

But we came to the A41, which nearer to Belfast becomes the M1, the main road between the tow capital cities on the island.

I cruised at 50, sitting behind a truck so not be tempted to rush. I had three hours to get the 70 miles to the airport, so time for breakfast on the way too.

Again, the border between the two countries was only noticed because of an old customs and excise office being signposted, and again milage and speed was back in KM rather than miles.

I stopped for breakfast at a service station, where other bleary-eyed travellers were seeking coffee and fat-laden breakfasts.

I got a coffee and a cheese sandwich that was microwaved, or so it seemed, the process did not improve its looks, but was crispy in places.

My phone chimed that it had received a message.

Due to fog in the London area, there was a strong chance my flight would be delayed.

No worries.

I got back in the car, drove to the gas station and filled it up.

The phone chimed again.

My flight wasn't to be delayed, instead it was cancelled. I was to rebooked on the 19:20 flight.

19:20 instead of 11:20, an eight hour delay, and so nearly ten hours to fill with something.

The minutes and hours stretched out like a long stretchy thing.

I confirmed my seat on the new flight, called Jools to let her know and make arrangements for her to pick me up from London City as I would not get there until nearly nine, then have to get to Dover after that.

I drove back onto the motorway, thinking I needed somewhere to go to waste some time, a sign to the town of Drogheda.

I took the exit and went to see what there was to see.

Fairly heavy traffic at first, and misty gloomy weather, I found my way to the river, crossed over and went into a parking garage. It opened at eight, it was five past.

I sat in the car wondering what to do.

I would go out with a camera, obviously.

The town is spread out either side of the River Boyne. Yes, that River Boyne. A mix of old and new, with fine old buildings, modern blocks, and currently closed pubs.

I saw on the Wiki site for the town, pictures of St Lawrence Gate, so I went to investigate and take shots. Along St Lawrence Street, three barbers had opened, so once I had my shots, I got some money out, and went into Wiggys for a trim.

Andrew shorn me, and we swapped news about our sports teams, and things to see and do in the town.

I walked back to the river, then over the modern footbridge to Scotch Hall shopping centre, where I had a pumpkin spiced latte with an extra shot. I looked at a travel site, and the number one thing to do in the town was not in the town.

Newgrange is one of the oldest and largest corridor tomb in the world, and is one of three that looks down into the Boyne Valley.

I drove out to the visitor centre, where there seems to be a job creation scheme in place, as the greeter sent me to the ticket desk, who asks the same questions as the greeter, then sends me on with my ticket, to be checked by someone who had heard and seen it all happening.

Interior tours seem to be include both major tombs, and the next space was in the afternoon, but an exterior tour round Newgrange was due to leave in 15 minutes.

I went on that.

A bus takes yo to the site. To get to the bus you walk through the centre, down the spiral steps, over a bridge spanning the Boyne, down and round, then over two smaller bridges to the bus stop, where the driver knew he had eight passengers to pick up.

When we eight were seated in his ancient Mercedes bus, it roared and lurched off.

At Newgrange, we debussed, then walked up to meet our guide, who took us up the slop to the side of the monument, then after an introduction, took us round showing us the points of interest, ending at the grand entrance.

Round the base of the tomb are three highly decorated kerb stones. We all take shots. Me more than most, I suspect.

So, after about 45 minutes, we were done.

Onto the bus for a trip back, only this was a modern electric bus that made no sounds or emissions.

Back at the visitor centre, should i et there or find somewhere less expensive that had a wider choice?

I googled a place to eat, and came up with The Thatch, a pub-cum0restaurant that did a carvery.

And who doesn't like a carvery?

I drove there, parked and found a place more like a canteen, but they did have a carvery. So I had been, roast potatoes, carrots, cabbage, broccoli and loads of gravy.

It more than filled the hole, so I drove back to the motorway, with the plan to go to the next services and park up to read my book.

I go onto the motorway, paid the toll, then at the services, a great weariness overcame me, and I fell asleep soon after parking, and I slept for 90 minutes, maybe nearly two hours.

I went into the services, bought a bottle of pop, some chocolate, went to the car to eat, drink and read, then drive the remaining 20KM to the airport, through light traffic.

The car was checked, and I, along with three others, waited for a bus to take us to the terminal. Ten minutes I was waiting in line to check in my case, then up through security, where I still had two hours to wait.

I people watched, because you see all sorts at an airport.

Signs said it was a nine minute walk to the gate, so I set off with an hour to go, only to find it was delayed another half an hour.

Sigh.

We waited like the 99 other passengers on the flight, then there was the usual scramble when the flight was called, it took over 30 minutes to bard, with me having a seat on the very back row.

We took off into the night, for the short hop over to England, only there was turbulence, which needed us climb 6,000 feet higher to avoid it.

We landed just after nine, I was quickly off as I was near the rear door, then had a ten minute wait for my case.

That came, and out to the arrivals hall, where Jools was waiting. We hugged, and she took me to the car, parked beside the taxiway, loading it, and the sat nav took us into Kent via the Blackwall Tunnel, though endless roadworks and speed restrictions.

But the other side of the river, we sped up, and made our way south to Dartford, then into deepest, darkest Kent, down the A2.

There were times when it felt I might never get home, or that day. But miles were eaten up, and we arrived back at half eleven, time for a brew and take my shoes and sock off.

That'll do, pig.

There is no finer feeling than slipping into your own bed, made perfect with clean sheets and pillows.