And once again, dawn finds me already packed and out the door, pausing only to be interrogated as to whether I’d nabbed anything else from the minibar between paying last night and now or what. Oh please, I would hardly have come down and volunteered the money if I was gonna… ah, screw it. I don’t think the people in that hotel liked me very much; and I sang very quietly.
However! The correct tram, today, and a swift change onto the S-bahn, hah, I knew that big green ‘S’ stood for ‘Train’, and here is my train already and I do feel a bit ill this morning, actually. And I did not look beautiful at all when I got out the shower, so it was a one-off. Hee.
Well and no wonder I couldn’t find the damn train on Monday – it comes up in the middle of the airport. Indoors. Ha, at home they make you fight your way across the bus-lanes with your wheelie-suitcase for this sort of thing.
Gate one hundred and forty? Jeebus!
But lo, it was a swift and safe flight, during which the air-crew very kindly decided they would take euros and would lower the price for me too, and here we are at Birmingham and it’s not even midday and I have… another four hours to kill. God. I miss company, actually; I might be an antisocial bastard, but it’s been days. Who the hell would be about at this time of day?
I called the office, ha. Officially Sad! Still, I made my Colleague of Skull Scarves salivate with envy at the news that I was drinking a pint.
I made that pint last two hours. Then I clocked the queue to get into customs in Terminal One, which went all the way round the entire concourse, panicked in case Terminal Two was equally stowed and ran like the wind.
Terminal Two was deserted.
And I have another two hours before the plane. D’oh. Right, I shall be frugal and sit quietly without a pint.
Only I won’t, because there seemed to be no seating at all that wasn’t penned into one establishment or another, which all required the purchase of some sort of refreshment to allow one entry. Hmm. Well then, I shall sit quietly at the gate (once I have checked there is some sort of access to a loo from there – been caught out by that one before).
Or, I won’t, because they aren’t going to tell me which gate. For another two hours. Cunning bastards! Fine. Pint of Ruddles, and my, what a price-jump from the Wetherspoon’s outside departures; fine. Just watch how long I can make this last.
Plane is delayed. How long, they don’t know. And they still don’t know which gate. (No, I cannot get back in without another purchase, apparently. This is the most expensive day of sitting doing nothing ever!) Well, they might have known which gate; but they refused to let on until they suddenly announced that we’d all better stampede to the gate because we had a very brief window to get airborne.
Which we missed, so we sat on the plane, on the tarmac. God, it’s not exactly westing by sexton and musket here, but I’m finding it fairly hard going today nonetheless.
My plan to be home by rush-hour failed utterly – I got the bus into town, discovered it was peeing down here too, decided to be lazy and go to the station, and got turned away at the barrier because apparently we were still in the last ten minutes of that window where you can’t get on a train without pre-buying a ticket. Ooh, all day of deliberately steeping in zombie-dom, and suddenly we have to Run and Decide Things, Quickly, and what an exciting queue it is at the machines, all of a sudden! But here we are, I is gonna make it…
The train closed its doors in my face.
Still! Did I get ticket-checked at the barrier when I went for the next train? No! And I was home by seven. Ah, home sweet empty home, and I have three more days of freedom with which to make the most of the silence!
Only I don’t, because it would appear that Monday’s move did not go very well. As evidenced by most of my flatmate’s stuff still being here, as well as a note on the kitchen counter, saying she’s gonna be back on Saturday and Sunday to get it. Ah. I suddenly realise how much I was looking forward to that not happening, but hey, it ain’t her fault and I’m sure she’s not chuffed about it either. But we’re kinda still in the limbo period here. Maybe I will go mooch in my room.
And as I went to push my bedroom door open, the damn thing practically fell off in my hand, what are the odds. Turns out, it’s off the hinges. The screws are all twisted and the hinge is kinda bent back on itself. Oh now look, it’s been a trying day and I really do not need poltergeist activity on top of everything else.
Laundry on, bag unpacked, strawberry cider open, and a big long sigh because I am back to reality with a bloody great thump, what!
Still worth it.