Have you ever seen those airport programmes and wondered how stupid the passengers are who arrive with seconds to spare for their flight? From now on, I will not refer to them in derogatory tones, for I have experienced the thrill and excitement of just such an occasion. Let me rewind to the early morning of our departure. Everyone was awake; bags were packed; and a luxurious Mercedes waited to whisk us away to the airport. All started well with clear roads and high spirits. Then we hit the traffic. No matter which way we tried - and we did try several - the traffic Gods conspired to place so many obstacles in our path and move the hands on our watches faster, that it soon became apparent our chances of flying were very slim. Our eagle-eyed driver spotted a Park and Ride train station. Swiftly he changed direction and headed for a possible solution. As soon as we stopped, nimble A jumped out to check train times pursued by her Mum. I loaded myself up like the proverbial bag lady, hobbling along as fast as my little legs would take me. In my haste, I failed to notice the 'lift' sign and began a climb as arduous for me as climbing Everest. At each step my breath became shallow and faster. My face looked like a beet root on a bad day ( or should that be a good day?). I had almost reached the summit when a shout from A revealed that the train would not arrive on time! Going down was almost as difficult as I feared the mass of the bags might bring me down sooner than intended. Thank goodness Hubby was there for a soft landing.
So it was back to the car and yet another decision as to which route to follow. I fear it was my choice which may have led to yet another problem - more traffic!! N phoned the airport and pleaded with them to hold the arrivals gate open. Our driver performed some amazing and astonishing manoeuvres on (and off) the road in his attempt to get rid of us for three weeks. Did I see desperation in his eyes.?? Well I saw something - and I will keep his deep, dark secret forever in my mind, unless, of course, someone crosses my palm with silver. My lips are sealed Mr S !!
With three minutes to spare, we screeched into the car park. Once again, A sprinted ahead, doing a fine impersonation of Usain Bolt. This time, I managed to break the world record for the 800 metre dash for the ladies of a certain age with damaged Achilles. We reached the gate with 30 seconds to spare. The attendant looked at her watch, smiled and said 'Oh, you made it then!'
Yes, we made it and congratulations had to go to Mr S for his steering technique and Mr C for his navigation prowess in the final moments of the journey. Without further ado, we bid the male contingent a swift, but fond, farewell. They both looked relieved to see us ascending the moving staircase. Our gate was open and we didn't have to wait long before boarding.
I hoped my New Zealand PJ's would have a pleasant trip in their over-large suitcase and that we would be reunited in Delhi. What a way to start our holiday!!
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