It’s Christmas time, there’s no need to be afraid. Apparently. They didn’t sing that at Gatwick airport on Christmas Eve during a train strike, border control strike, nurses and ambulance strike and pilots strike, did they? Ok, I lied about the pilots to enhance the story. But really, its hell here. Bob Geldof’s starving Africans were lucky to have avoided the South Terminal in late December.

That may be some kind of exaggeration too. I do that. To get sympathy. But trust me: it’s HELL getting to Mexico for a winter-sun, white sand, super-luxurious, free-sombreros, all you can drink Marguerita-fest, a charitable event to raise awareness for the ‘worms’. The ones at the bottom of a bottle of Mescal tequila. We’re all wearing ‘save the worm’ t-shirts and are trying to instil vegan values to enhance our battle against this cruel and senseless tradition. Worms have feelings too, ya know!!! Oh, they’re not really worms anyway, more, maggots. And as such have the most under-developed sensory system of any animal outside of East European football clubs.

I shouldn’t complain. I leave that to Mel. She’s a pre-emptor. I only complain about bad shit that’s happening or happened, and about Arsenal, whereas she’s already complaining about things that might happen next week. Foresight. Foremoaned is forearmed. Though only about holidays. It’s her way of coping with this post-covid, will-it/won’t-it happen mentality instilled upon us over the last 3 years. She’s not really a complainer generally. It’s just the insecurity and unpredictability of travel which causes her (and me) stress and concern and always have a lingering doubt that it won’t actually happen. Will be cancelled. We’ll be turned away for sneezing at check-in. Fog. Rain. Snow. Air. Water. Covid. Strikes. Death.

And that’s it so far. I must admit. Gatwick’s never looked more beautiful. Of course, I’ll keep you appraised of all eventualities.

Happy Christmas!!!!

A xxxx