Hi there from London England. My status on Letterdash used to read, “AD loves to travel.” I should really have qualified that statement and added, “but only when she arrives at her destination.”
One of my pet peeves is the taxi ride to and from the airport. The Limo’ arrived on time to pick us up; so far so good. We had three cases and two cabin bags, which is one case less then we usually travel with. The three cases would have easily gone in the boot if the driver had put the biggest one in first and the other two side by side on top, but no, he put the smallest one in first, the mid-size one on top, and then like the “Big Bad Wolf”, he huffed and he puffed whilst he shoe-horned the third case into the front passenger seat, after moving the seat back so that my knees were almost touching my chin. He swore that it weighed 75 lbs and when hubby told him that he’d just weighed it and it was only 50lbs, he said that it couldn’t possibly be. The fact that he was overweight and very unfit, didn’t seem to come into the equation. He informed us that because of “insurance rules” hubby wasn’t allowed to even so much as touch the cases at either end of the journey. Luckily a very jolly Jamaican porter appeared as we arrived, and for a goodly tip, lifted each case, virtually with his pinky finger and transported them through to the check-in.
All the luggage passed the weight test, and off we went to security which was absolutely chaotic. When it was my turn to go through, I was directed to the full body scanner. I didn’t beep for the first time ever, and thought I was home and dry, but as I walked triumphantly out of the booth, I was accosted by a stern-looking woman who wanted to give me the touch test. Having found nothing concealed upon my person, she then sent me off to someone else who informed me that I was going to be tested for explosives, but only after I asked what he was about to do to me. I knew that at this stage, it would not be in my interest to burst into fits of hysterical giggles, so I held my breath whilst he swabbed my hands and put the swabs through the scanner. He solemnly announced that I was clear and was free to go, and I scurried back to hubby who was wondering where on earth I’d disappeared to. Why do I always get the special treatment? Maybe they’re suspicious of me because I look so unlike the profile of a shoe bomber. Chatting to our son later, he said that it might be even worse at Heathrow, so I’d better be prepared for a body cavity search on Tuesday. Aren’t sons so precious?
The flight was uneventful, except for someone getting ill just as we were about to make an early take off. An ambulance had to be called, and of course then there was the search for the person’s baggage in the hold so that it could be taken off. Is it very selfish to think, “Oh BOTHER!” on such occasions? The night passed in a haze of ice-cold air being constantly blown into the cabin and that non-stop noise as of “a rushing mighty wind,” which always makes me suspicious that one of the windows is open. We landed just after 9am and the weather here is very sunny and mild. The taxi from the airport was the typical London cab, with plenty of room for the luggage inside. We are told that our hotel room won’t be available until 2pm, so we’re sitting in the lounge whiling away the time until we can get in there for a shower and a change of clothes. I wouldn’t mind a couple of hours’ sleep before we catch the train into London and spend what’s left of the day moseying around. We’ve done all the sights many times, but I guess there’s always something new to see.
My daughter just put a pic on Facebook of my grandson who turned thirteen last Tuesday. Here is our family’s newest teenager with his big sister.
Enjoy the rest of your weekend. Chat again soon.