Let me start by saying: ‘I don’t expect sympathy’. Everything that follows is true. Except for the bits I choose to fabricate. But really, there’s very little fiction in this tale of ‘the worst travel experience, EVERRRRR!!!’

So BA cancelled our flight. Didn’t delay it, move it, displace it and certainly didn’t replace it. They just cancelled it. ‘Fly tomorrow’, they said. You know this.

What you don’t know is the sacrifice we had to make to get home yesterday morning rather than today, as BA suggested. Because when we fly ‘long haul’ we do it with our air miles and we go ‘business class’. Why? Because I feel like a princess and can click my fingers for anything I need from check-in right up to the sedan chair they use to carry business class travellers through the airport. Ok, what I like is that you don’t queue anything like as much. For that I would pay money in any circumstance (read: world’s most impatient fucker), but with BA, we don’t need to pay money, just send ‘em a few air miles and a voucher. The lounge is great, the food is fab, you sit in a little ‘pod’ thing, which fully reclines if that’s what you desire. And they bring you whisky and snacks, strippers, a shower, whatever you want. Yes, it’s all very poncey and precious, but you really look forward to the flights.

We came home on Air Canada, in… economy!!! But, like, all the way home! Oh no, the total deprivation!!! I know, right? We fly pleb class a lot, just normally not for too long and not generally on Air Canada. It wasn’t pleasant. The only reason no-one died of food poisoning was that the food was so inedible it didn’t pass your lips.

But heh; we coped. Heroically. Staggered off the flight, stooped over, aching, you know, and made it out. Jumped in the car we’d booked and…

It broke down. On the M4 motorway as we’d just passed the service station before London. WTF? When do cars ever break down?? But we managed to find one that did. The driver looked under the bonnet, did what I’d have done, which is think “yeah, I think we need someone who understands this shit” and called for another cab. But there were none available. And you can’t call an Uber from the hard shoulder of a motorway. So we walked back to the service station. Lugging our bagS (there were many) and trudging up the hard shoulder. In the (fucking) rain. Called an uber, and all was well again.

HOW MANY WAYS COULD THEY TRY TO STOP US GETTING HOME???

Happy Friday

A xxxx