I’m crossing my fingers for a relatively smooth journey – yes, there’s been snow down here (nowhere near as much as in other parts of the country), but it hasn’t been too heavy, so there’s a vague chance that tomorrow’s trip won’t disintegrate into a Planes Trains and Automobiles style nightmare.
Oh blimey. I should have known better.
Yes, the journey turned into something of a saga. A 15-hour saga. And it’d be great if I could say that much of that was action, adventure and intrigue, but most of it involved an awful lot of sitting around. Newquay Airport is not a particularly exciting place to be stranded – in fact, out of the whole journey, it’s about the least appealing part of the journey to be stuck on. So naturally, I got stuck there. The annoying thing is that if my plane – which was scheduled to leave at 6.30am, and initially got delayed to about 7.30am – had tried to leave ten minutes earlier, we probably would have made it. They finally started boarding us at 8am- and then stopped when snow descended. Serious snow. An hour and a half later, they tried again, and we got as far as the runway before the fact that a blizzard was going made it clear that nobody was going anywhere for the immediate future. Which left me kinda stranded – I chose the ‘wait for the other flight that day’ option, which meant waiting from 10am until 3.55pm in the desperate hope that the snow would let up. And it did. And the journey back to Manchester was relatively smooth, with only a half-hour pause at Bristol.
It was only when I was getting off the plane at Manchester that I realised I could actually have gotten to America in the time it took me to get home.
A bit of a saga, and I’ve come back to find Manchester wreathed in snow and ice. It’s -7 outside. Tomorrow will be plenty of sorting, and hopefully a journey into town. But for now, I’m just glad to be back…