The night is disturbed by strong winds inside and outside the room. There’s a hurricane brewing somewhere near America. In the middle of the night it seems related. The stiff breeze in the morning doesn’t stop Siggy running down and sunbathing while I finish packing my suitcase and try and nap between trips to the toilet. The booze, the fish or the chocolate yesterday has messed up my guts. After multiple trips I resort to taking a couple of tablets to shore things up. It doesn’t take a clairvoyant to know that the last thing I want to do is go for a poo at the airport.
My upset tum doesn’t stop me from enjoying one last milkshake. We say goodbye to the sisters and then quicker than either of us want the coach appears to take us to the airport. We make a quick trip down to see a plane from Newcastle landing. My video is on Instagram if you’re interested. Here’s a still:
The airport is barely controlled chaos – too many flights and too small an apron. As expected the toilets are horrendous. There’s two queues for passport control – one inside and one outside the airport – staff attempt to combine the two but shouty man gets angry and chaos is restored. Departures is packed:
There’s a delay to the incoming Manchester flight and so our flight is shunted along and we only leave thirty minutes or so late. I recall being at least an hour late last year. We are actually in the airport for far less time than previous visits – even though it is packed time passes pretty quick.
The wind helps us out – we don’t have to stop and refuel on the mainland. I try to watch ‘Need for Speed’ but can’t hear the audio. There’s a major spot of turbulence along the way which results in me getting spotted with red wine from the chap behind me who also manages to empty most of the glass all over his missus in the seat across the aisle. I am holding my cup of tea which has just been served and manage to contain it in the cup.
I have a flashback to the two aborted landings I was involved in at Heathrow earlier in the year and I look so worried that Siggy thinks I’m going to cry. it doesn’t help that the two people sitting next to me are nervous flyers and have been quietly keening and clutching at each other at every little bit of turbulence. Once we’ve landed I regale them with my horrible tale of the aborted landings. I feel a little better.
We get home to a light drizzle and more World Cup action quicker than anyone expected.