Sleep disturbed at 0130hrs by the bloke next door shouting down his phone. Don’t like rooms with interconnecting doors. Pet travel hate.
Sleep disturbed at 0600hrs by the telephone. It’s the alarm call. Don’t like alarm calls in the early hours. Pet travel hate #2.
The last thing I need rushing about is for my boot lace to snap. Can’t be bothered relacing so hobble about with boot half undone.
Bellboy hails a taxi off the street. I’m tired and grumpy. Driver’s tired and grumpy. We hit it off straight away. Ask how much to the airport. JD25. Nah. It’s JD20. He argues for JD25. Tell bellboy to hail another taxi. Driver immediately relents and begrudgingly sort of agrees JD20 by telling me to jump in. He’s been up all night and this is the last fare of the shift. Then he’s going home to do (with hand motions) “Coffee. Cigarette. Coffee. Cigarette. Coffee. Cigarette.” In that order. Wish he’d stop playing on his phone and just drive safely to the airpot. We speed along empty roads only slowing down for known police speed traps and tight bends. Normal bends are taken like an F1 car over a chicane. At least it wakes me up. Hand JD20 note to driver once I’ve made sure bag is in my possession. We go through the JD25 routine again. It’s usually JD30 he says. It’s not. It’s JD22 in a nice, clean airport limo with safe driving. It’s JD20 in a clapped out, dirty, taxi with a scruffy driver. And I’m being generous. No, really.
Airport X-ray is a farce. Have the usual liquids, bottles of water and whisky in my rucksack but these do not arouse the slightest suspicion. Given that we’re flying into the UK from a relatively high risk region you would’ve thought the authorities would be a bit tougher on this liquids business. It all rather makes a mockery of the rigmarole we have to go through when flying in Europe. Why is this possible. Surely, there should be some international agreement on this? There’s not even a secondary search as it’s a British airline.
Bit early for champagne in the lounge so make do with coffee, coke (the sparkling drink….) and croissant to wake me up. The chaos in Cairo continues judging from the TV pictures. Know I’m heading back to normality when passing a WH Smith shop enroute to the departure gate.
5hrs soon flies by (as it would on an aircraft) and land at a grey, cold, dismal Heathrow. Welcome to Britain. Landed, disembarked, through passport control and customs in 15mins. A record.
Heathrow Express to Padington. Taxi to Kings Cross. Train to Newark. Greeted by two smiling young ladies who appear to have grown up considerably in the time I’ve been away. Car to home.
Pheasant casserole awaits. It’s good to be back.