If arriving at Heathrow was a delightful experience, leaving for a month in Europe was nothing short of diabolical.
After drinking until the wee hours of saturday morn, I awoke on sunday hungover but excited about my impending trip to Paris.
Bleary eyed and with head throbbing I left my friends house in the docklands and headed back to
the airport. I was craving a hamburger and was certain with 3 hours to spare there would be ample time to sample some of london's delicious takeaway enroute to my namesake city.
I was overwhelmed at chek in- the airport seemed to be in apparent chaos and I made my way to the end of the longest line in the history of lines...
Tempers flared and I watched an arab man push ahead slightly only to be confronted by a burly brit whop said 'in our country you don't do this', 'you arabs should respect our land etc etc,' I was appaled.
It seems that impossiable lines bring out the best and worse in peorple, the lady behind me was irrate, the pushy americans were just that... and me with my horrendous hangover just smiled at my good fortune at being able to begin another adventure.
My smile faded when a mother of four was forced to the end of the line by BA staff who said NO ONE (and that means no one) gets a short cut, I raised my voice on this point and said how can you expect a mother to line with 4 young children for hours.
Needless to say my flight was delayed for 4 hours for apparent bad wheather (even though there was not a cloud in the sky... true)
On arrival at Paris, my prebooked airport shuttle rejected me (as my flight was delayed) and I was left stranded but almost in Paris.
To be continued