Heathrow terminal 3 is a sweaty hell right now. The flight was due to depart at 12.05. It’s now 12.28 and we’re all sat in the (mercifully air conditioned) departure gate. The main departure lounge was packed nearly solid, and it seemed incongruous to be walking past ‘shops’ carrying the Harrods and Chanel names, seeing the calm and cool atmosphere on one side of an invisible barrier while being jostled by the crowds.
Barking.
Today is supposed to be fathers day. My family were gracious enough to overlook the event for me, but the radio driving to the airport was full of it. I was OK until the last 7 or 8 minutes, but as I was leaving the M4 to the airport it all got too much. I feel like a piece of fatherhood has been torn away, and although I can be a father to others, I’ll never be a father to Sarah again in that way.
So not the best start to a morning.
They’ve just called us.
TTFN
Back again.
Got here OK. After 40 mins delay we finally got to board, only to sit on the apron for another hour. Ho hum.
Anyway, everything was set up fine, and I even got fed in the evening which was a definite plus.
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