I had a nice evening in London last night. It snowed on my walk to Oxford Circus and people just stopped and looked up… and took selfies saying, “I’ve never seen snow before.” It was a brilliant and lovely way to spend a Sunday night in the city before heading back to the US. Winding down in my room, I watched the Olympics from the British perspective. Brilliant and lovely.
My journey home… I get a D in planning but an A in execution. Arriving at the airport less than an hour before my flight. Running over a mile in the process… in clogs. Going to the furthest gate. All due to a critical mistake in planning.
I set my alarm for 8, planning on a 9 departure from the hotel, an hour to the airport, arriving more than two hours before my 12:30pm international flight. Plenty of time to enjoy the clubhouse and first class status in the Virgin-Delta high flyers lounge – a birthday present from my brother-in-law Todd. But I woke up confused and I never made it to the clubhouse. No spa treatment. No free booze pre-flight. Champagne problems, I know.
Since I was only in London for 27 hours, I did not change my clock to local time and this was my mistake. I always go local. So when my alarm sounded, I could not figure it out, saying “why do I need to wake at 3am for a noon flight?” When I woke again at 9:30 I was still confused. It hit me in the shower how late I was. I finished up and ran for a cab.
My cab driver hit gridlock in London and said, “you’ve got time, right love?” Saying no, he went to plan B using every trick in the handsome cab book (including a short cut through a hospital driveway) and dropped me at Paddington Station, instructing me to head for the Heathrow Express because it would be faster.
I ran down the vehicle ramp to the signage to see it was 11:01 and the 11:03 Heathrow train was leaving on the furthest platform. I ran. I got to the entrance where you need a ticket, not having one, I ran through an open handicapped gate as the doors closed on my backpack and I threw my body forward to extract it. A close-by passenger looked up and I said, “Heathrow right?” He nodded with eyes wide — Londoners don’t like it when the doors close on you causing alarms and a reclosing of the doors. I sat. Then I heard the announcement as we departed that I was on the local. The LOCAL. I confirmed with same passenger and then I reacted as anyone would, “F$ck”. I walked to find a conductor to see if I need to change trains. I couldn’t find a conductor but three trains through my walk the announcement informed me I was 25 minutes from Heathrow. I sat.
I got to the airport around 11:35 and ran to the first class checkin and then ran to the Fast Track Security. I put my deodorant in the clear plastic bag but forgot to take out my makeup bag. They needed to search and chemically test my bag, makeup, etc and then sent me on my way. You come out of the fancy security through a bit of a side door so I hurdled what may have been a small child and ran for gate 22. The signage said, “Plan for your journey, Gate 22 is a 20-minute walk.” WHAT??? I ran. Given my fancy status a flight attendant met me about gate 20 and radioed ahead that I was on my way, “I’ve got 6 Alpha.” Given my one day trip I was then flagged by gate security and grilled for why I was leaving my son behind to make his way through Europe. I was the last to arrive and would not have made it past my first checkin without Todd’s upgrade. Thank you!
By the way, has anyone seen my glasses?
Blue Cairn 