Left home at 5.30 am. When I’m travelling with Husband, arriving on time is never a worry. Taxi to Heathrow.
Went through all the airport procedures – luggage-drop, security, passport checks. As Husband travels so often, he knows exactly what to do at each turn, and always seems to be on the next stage. Every time I glanced up from finding my passport, or putting it back into my bag, or reloading liquids into my hand-luggage – he was out of sight and onto the next stage. (To be honest, I am not entirely sure why when you are at the airport 32 hours before your flight leaves, it is necessary to sprint through every stage. Just saying.)
Husband travelling for work, and me using copious amounts of airmiles, so rather nice lounge experience. Though we were travelling with BA, and in my opinion, they are not as nice as Virgin. They had paper towels in the washrooms, for goodness sake! You’ll be pleased to know I coped.
Eventually got onto the plane. Then had usual difficult choice between drinking enough liquid so I don’t get a headache due to dehydration, and drinking so much that I can’t avoid frequent trips to washroom. Which is never pleasant. Scowled at fellow passengers, one of whom was creator of bad smells/tissue on floor/soap smeared on tap.
Time passed slowly. At home, I would love 9 hours of peace to do whatever I pleased. On an aeroplane, it seems never-ending. Bit of reading. Bit of Duolingo (brilliant app – have you seen it?) Bit of watching ‘Filmstars Don’t Die in Liverpool’ (which was too sad, so stopped after an hour). Bit of watching ‘Kingsmen the Golden Circle’ (which was too in-your-face-nasty, so stopped. Which is a shame, as I enjoyed the first film and thought it was rather classy. This was aimed at hormonal boys who can’t cope with subtlety). Watched whole of a documentary about Stephen Spielberg, which was hugely interesting. Did you know he directed Jaws when he was just 25? He even looked a bit like Son 1 – must tell him he needs to do something brilliant soon, he’s getting a bit behind already.
Just before we arrived, the steward gave us landing cards for immigration. Why do they do that? Why wait until you have a completely numb brain and can’t remember your own name, and then ask you to fill tiny boxes with your passport number and the phone number of your hotel? Maybe it’s how they get their own back on the smelly bowelled washroom spoiler.
Immigration, in any country, is always torture. We, of course, had to sprint there, which meant we managed to catch up with all the queues from the flight before us. So worth doing. Then we had a very scary time of separation, when Husband joined the ‘working visa’ line, and I had to find the correct line for a holiday visa. Which actually did not exist, so I joined the ‘e-visa, re-entry to country’ line (which seemed a slightly better option than the ‘e-visa, Japanese nationals’ line, which was my second choice. No idea why Japanese nationals need their own line – do you know? I am sometimes mistaken for being Chinese, so I thought I could wing it, but felt European passport might be a weakness). Made it into country.
Found Husband. Found suitcases. Found hotel car. Arrived at St Regis Hotel, Mumbai, India, about 9pm BST. Long day.
Husband’s I have to travel with work too often Starwood Hotels card meant we got a free upgrade to a suite. All very plush and exciting (no paper handtowels here!) Felt very fortunate and went to bed. Will tell you more tomorrow, though actually, I intend to do nothing this trip. I need a rest.
Thanks for reading. Take care.
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If you enjoyed this, you will love my new book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary.
I have always written a diary on holiday, so last Christmas, I decided to find all my old diaries and blogs, and make a book for my children. However, several other people also asked for a copy, so I have written a public version – it’s available on Amazon and has been described as “The Durrells meet Bill Bryson”!
Why not buy a copy today? I think it will make you laugh.
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