Frankfurt

Almost quarter to 7; all my plans for an easy trip to Verden in working time instead of my own, and being in good time for the planned dinner with the dark boss’ boss to discuss plans and projects, have disintegrated.

My son fetched up with the shorts in good time, we set off in good time; max hour to the airport and allowing 45 mins to get there seemed good. Stopping for petrol, no problem. Convincing him that the A41 is not the best route if you want to be west of London has got much easier. M40, lots of weather, too hot, pouring rain, sudden gusts of wind , all good. Next turnoff, M25.

Sign: M25 Southbound exit closed due to accident.
#Ah pfuiii!!!
Next sign: M25 Southbound exit closed due to accident on slip road.

In-car debate about which might be the best alternative route, and we ended up travelling north on the M1, having checked that the accident WAS on the slip road (lorry at a jaunty angle at the side of the road)

Fretting... all that organisation and feeling serene about the available time, packed, unconcerned about the journey, quite looking forward the arriving at a civilised hour for a civilised dinner – trashed!

So. Up the M1 and down again at the next junction, plain sailing really. The shorts had a proper awed moment when we went past the plane just before the tunnel to Terminal 1, I had my moment of stress trying to read the signs on the road, having assumed my son was as used to driving to T1 as I have become. Out of the car and into the airport before half one; cool!

Departure Board. Flight at 14:15 delayed. Leaving at 14.29. Approximately, one assumes. Unbelievable! Even if it hadn’t been a delayed departure, I was on time, with time to get myself a sandwich for lunch, and settled to wait.

Just after I polished off the sandwich and realised the book Mark loaned and recommended wasn’t at all what I’d expected; he said it was a 'gay' book and I wasn't expecting fascinating hooks to classic literature, the gate finally showed up for the delayed flight. Only 15 minutes, delay, no issue, they can make that up on the way, and there is almost an hour for the transfer time at Frankfurt.

Gate 5 was there, people in uniforms with walkie-talkies were there, lots of prospective passengers were there. The plane wasn’t. After a long while, people started coming out of the gate. The uniforms stopped avoiding eye contact with the passengers and moved behind the desks putting their professional smiles into place, we got on the plane.

An hour later, we were there. On the plane. On the ground. In London.

Eventually, the plane took off and we were flying at the speed of sound (80% of it, according to the pilot, who said he had his pedal to the metal and was doing 550mph – what IS the speed of sound?) The plane hit a few potholes in the sky on the way, but it was water that splashed all over my shirt and the wine was saved for savouring between potholes. It was quite fun really, holding the full glass of wine over the aisle and practising zen go-with-the-flow instead of throwing it all over the floor and the other passengers.

We landed at 17:40. The exact minute the connecting flight took off.

20:13 ~ I am off for another smoke now: the Camel sheds are civilised, and have decent extraction fans: the cherman beer is good and is coiling nicely round my brainstem, I sent a text to the boss to tell his boss he’s being stood up

Flight leaves at 9: I don’t want to miss it ...

bad beat

can't be bother to try posting the pic - one of the last 3 players in a tournament of 80; K 7 in hand; 3 8 9 on the flop; King on the turn, 7 on the river .....

looking good ....

and the unfolded other had pocket 8s.

rats.

The blond boss gave me a brand new Party Poker table top this week; I'm thinking of taking it up to Edinburgh with me next weekend - I need the practice