I’ve come to the conclusion that public transport and I just don’t mix.
Several times already I’ve regaled you with stories of my angst-ridden journeys throughout the UK ... but here we go again.
Last Friday saw me flying down to London for a business meeting scheduled to last two hours at the most.
Unfortunately, it was due to start at 9.30 a.m., which meant a 4.30 a.m. rise in time to catch the ‘red eye’ flight south.
Once again I was ‘beeped’ as I headed through security but, on this occasion, no ‘personal search’ was deemed necessary.
After a fairly uneventful flight, where the biggest problem was the congealed tomato sauce in my breakfast, we looked like landing on schedule only to start circling over London.
Fog, the captain explained, was the problem, but not to worry as he had enough fuel to circle for three or four hours until it lifted.
Thankfully, just an hour of circling was needed but it still meant we arrived for our meeting just as it was due to finish.
A hasty bit of rescheduling and a hurried presentation later and I was hot-footing it back to the airport to catch my return flight.
I needn’t have rushed ... it was an hour late.