LONDON GATWICK < EGYPT > LONDON LUTON
So I went on holiday a couple of weeks ago. I went to Egypt. Egypt is awesome! I would like to go back and see the pyramids and learn to dive and be sold into marriage to a boyfriend who brings me icecream when I've already eaten seven desserts. My dowry will be seven camels. My bemused family will have to visit the camels when they are missing me too much.
The whole expedition was doomed from the start. Mistake number one was going with Emma, who doesn't feel it's worth going on holiday unless one gets bitten by at least one exotic but unidentifiable beast while you're there. Mistake number two was only booking the holiday two days before it started, because this means all local flights (local being within three hundred miles) are booked up and one is forced to drive to Gatwick at 3am in the morning.
Mistake number three was owning a car of such haughty, fickle Italian heritage that it refuses to work sensibly when it is raining as though the apocalypse itself had begun. Mistake number four was using Googlemaps which thinks it is perfectly possible to travel three hundred miles in an hour and a half, forcing one to drive at ninety billion miles an hour in order to keep to schedule.
Mistake number five was getting to check-in right as it opened only to find that the flight is delayed for 3 hours. Mistake number six is not always travelling with two days' worth of movies, games and music to fill hours waiting around the terminal.
Mistake number six was leaving Egypt to come home again.
Mistake number seven was not taking the warnings of snow, overheard when still in Egypt, seriously. Mistake number eight was feeling relieved to land at Luton airport after the pilot, who had been circling Gatwick airport for two hours in the worst blizzard for twenty years, promised there would only be an hour's delay getting to Gatwick.
Mistake number nine was imagining that landing at Luton at 10pm on a Sunday night would enable us to get back to Nottingham in time for work at 8am on Monday morning. Mistake number ten was not bringing sufficiently warm clothing, sleeping bags and portable showers to allow spending the night in Luton airport, on the floor sans blankets or advice on whether we would ever be provided with alternative transport in order to be reunited with our car and lives..
Mistake number eleven was driving three hundred miles back on Monday night in another blizzard despite not having had any sleep for at least thirty six hours. This mistake worked out ok, though, no one died.
Mistake number twelve was going back to work for my ungrateful company, who tell me I don't get paid for missing work on Monday! Scandalous.
CONCLUSION: airports suck! I'm scared of flying! Cruises down the Nile ftw.
The whole expedition was doomed from the start. Mistake number one was going with Emma, who doesn't feel it's worth going on holiday unless one gets bitten by at least one exotic but unidentifiable beast while you're there. Mistake number two was only booking the holiday two days before it started, because this means all local flights (local being within three hundred miles) are booked up and one is forced to drive to Gatwick at 3am in the morning.
Mistake number three was owning a car of such haughty, fickle Italian heritage that it refuses to work sensibly when it is raining as though the apocalypse itself had begun. Mistake number four was using Googlemaps which thinks it is perfectly possible to travel three hundred miles in an hour and a half, forcing one to drive at ninety billion miles an hour in order to keep to schedule.
Mistake number five was getting to check-in right as it opened only to find that the flight is delayed for 3 hours. Mistake number six is not always travelling with two days' worth of movies, games and music to fill hours waiting around the terminal.
Mistake number six was leaving Egypt to come home again.
Mistake number seven was not taking the warnings of snow, overheard when still in Egypt, seriously. Mistake number eight was feeling relieved to land at Luton airport after the pilot, who had been circling Gatwick airport for two hours in the worst blizzard for twenty years, promised there would only be an hour's delay getting to Gatwick.
Mistake number nine was imagining that landing at Luton at 10pm on a Sunday night would enable us to get back to Nottingham in time for work at 8am on Monday morning. Mistake number ten was not bringing sufficiently warm clothing, sleeping bags and portable showers to allow spending the night in Luton airport, on the floor sans blankets or advice on whether we would ever be provided with alternative transport in order to be reunited with our car and lives..
Mistake number eleven was driving three hundred miles back on Monday night in another blizzard despite not having had any sleep for at least thirty six hours. This mistake worked out ok, though, no one died.
Mistake number twelve was going back to work for my ungrateful company, who tell me I don't get paid for missing work on Monday! Scandalous.
CONCLUSION: airports suck! I'm scared of flying! Cruises down the Nile ftw.
posted by Lucy at 5:32 pm
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