Beyond Croatia

Beyond Croatia 

The dash to the gate…

Do you recall the story where I made the crazy journey to Bristol airport to save my mum’s holiday?

I bet you are wondering - did they make that flight?

Lets pick up the story with me waving them off at security with a man shouting down a walkie talkie “I’ve got three passengers for the Croatia flight”, as he gets my mum into a wheelchair.  So off the ladies dash towards the gate, a whole plane load of people waiting on their ‘royal’ arrival. 

The security guard didn’t get very far when he realised that poor Myra wasn’t much quicker than my mum. He can’t push two wheelchairs though can he. He turns to Heather “could you push your friend in a wheelchair?” he asks. Now I should explain that Heather is slightly older than my mum and tiny. We have to hold onto her in high winds because she’s so slight.  Fair play to Heather she grabs a wheelchair and Myra climbs in. So now it’s like whacky races - Heather and the security guard racing the length of the airport building. 

How they did it I will never know but they made the flight. They had to do that walk of shame down the aisle of the aeroplane. All eyes on them. People rolling their eyes and tutting. I can imagine them thinking, “how can anyone cut it so fine to catch a flight?” “old people , honestly”  more sighs and eye rolling. In response to the glaring eyes my ladies feel the need to say loudly, the taxi didn’t turn up. If it wasn’t for my daughter we’d have never made the flight. 

They plonk themselves into their seats, breathing a sigh of relief and wondering if 5:30am was too early to order a gin and tonic. They’d made the flight - the angels must have been on our side that day and I’d saved the Croatian dream. 

London Calling 

As for me? At this point I’m sweating profusely watching the road signs countdown the miles to London. George had been no help whatsoever. Just go off at the next junction. But what if it takes me off round the houses, I’d whined. I could sense him shaking his head and wondering how I could be so hopeless with directions.  “Are you sure you made it to Bristol airport?” He laughs “and your mum isn’t on some flight to goodness knows where”. At this point I decide to terminate the conversation and realise I’m flying solo. 

Follow the satnav, you can’t go wrong …

It rather reminded me of the time when I’d visited my sister in Bristol. She’d sent me on my way and told me leaving Bristol (yes - Bristol again!) was really easy. I was to just go down here and I’d see the motorway signs and I’m good to go. Yes, yes, I reply. I’m not joking I think I saw the Bristol suspension bridge about 6 times. Each time I saw it coming up I thought oh man I’ve done another loop!

Or the time I drove my mum and sister back from Wrexham. We refer to that trip as The Grand Tour of Wales - no matter how hard I tried to follow the satnav I kept taking wrong turns. I’d just say “it’s ok, it’s re-routing”. What should have been a three hour journey ended up taking about six hours. I kid you not - at one point George rang to see where we were, when I told him he just said what on earth are you doing there? That’s nowhere near where you should be going, 

You get the picture!

Homeward Bound 

Anyway back to London - it was lovely doing a bit of sightseeing. No, of course I didn’t! I managed to get off at the next exit and I was relieved to find I actually got onto the motorway going the right way!

As I’m driving along, feeling much more confident now I’m facing the right way, my phone rings. I answer it using my hands free option. It was the taxi firm. I spoke with one very distraught, upset lady, she could not apologise enough. It transpires the whole midnight pick up time had given some cause for confusion. They offered to pay for my petrol and were arranging a meal out for all of us. Me, still feeling like a super hero, say “no, honestly it’s fine”. I should probably add emergency airport transfers to my CV.

As I’m approaching the services thinking about pulling off to see if my boss has messaged my phone rang again. This time it was Heather’s daughter-in-law. Now I assume Heather had messaged them to tell them I was taking them to the airport. Heather had apparently spoken with them but due to work commitments they couldn’t do it. So I’m a bit confused when Sally opens with “Oh my goodness, do you have any idea where Heather is?”. Internally I’m thinking, well I hope she’s on a plane to Croatia. “What do you mean?” I ask, now thinking maybe the ladies hadn’t made the flight and perhaps I’d celebrated too soon. “We’ve been ringing her all night, she’s not answered her phone, where are they?”. I reply “they should be on a plane”. “You took them to the airport? How on earth did you make that flight?”. I laugh - “Sally, I have no idea”. 

I pull over at the services desperate for a wee and some breakfast. I look at my watch, I was well and truly late for work. I text one of my team members, who remind me, the boss is on a course, that explains the radio silence. No working from home for me I groan. So I hit the road and head for home.

It was a very quick shower and change of clothing - that was the point when I realised I’d actually put my top on back to front in the dark.  I smile - still not quite believing I’d actually got the ladies on their flight. I wondered where they were and it was at that point I realised, they would have landed. So they made it to Croatia quicker than it had taken me to drive back to Tenby (via London). 

I get to work, not too late - I’m now feeling like some sort of superstar as I regale my colleagues with the story of getting three old ladies to a flight in Bristol. 

When I finally get home, exhausted there was no acknowledgment from George about my incredible feat. No he just says “how was London?”

Joanne C Hicks copyright ©️