“British Airways would like to apologise to travellers on flight BA666 (all BA flights now carry the devil’s number) for the 2 hour, possibly 3 hour, maybe more, delay. This is due to a shitstorm over Gatwick/Heathrow/City. We hope this will not inconvenience you too much. Don’t think of complaining, you’ll be wasting your breath. British Airways would like to wish you all the Happiest of New Years.”

So we arrived at Tenerife airport. And we arrived early. Because we’re clever. And read about how passport control at this airport is horrendous. So even with the traffic jam on what they loosely call ‘the motorway’ over here, we still arrived 3 hours before our flight. In part because it was pissing down, again, so what we gonna hang round for? The pool?

But being Tenerife airport, BA don’t have their own check-in desks. No-one does. They kind’a ’hot desk’ across the arrivals area. So you can’t drop your bags until they’ve assigned a desk number to the flight. And we’re so clever, we sat there for 45 minutes before that happened. Huh! How’s that for clever?

Then we learned that our flight is delayed. An hour. And 3 minutes, to be precise. At this precise moment.

The good news was; passport control was a doddle. No queue. No hassle. Unfortunately, the rest was all bad news. And when we finally make it back to Gatwick, we’re gonna need to charge Mel’s car before the ride home. At Midnight. In Gatwick.

Fuuuuuuccckkkkkk

A xxxx