Despite the fact that you have barely slept a wink through fear of not hearing the alarm (a physical impossibility given that Ann's phone alarm could be used as a nuclear warning) it still comes as a shock when it sounds at 3.15 a.m.
The day before had been spent making sure that everything was packed and ready to go so that I could indulge myself with the Gillingham v Luton Town fixture. Having set out for Priestfield I was forced to turn around on hearing that the game had been postponed due to fog. This seemed a but surreal as I had encountered no such weather between Marden and Maidstone.
But the weather was real enough for Woody, our taxi driver, to arrive half-an-hour early "just in case". Patchy fog in the rural areas was evident, but the M25 was mostly clear and we arrived at Terminal 3 miles too early, first in the queue in fact. Three quarters of an hour later a couple who had driven down from the Black Country made the line look less of a Billy No Mates convention. It was their first time to Heathrow and they remarked on its vastness. This led into us telling the story of our November fiasco when we had failed to find the car park only for them to report that they had found our infamous Purple Parking with no trouble. Must have fluked it, though the RAC directions does not appear a horrible oversight.
No matter how many times you use it, there still seems something disconcerting about an e-ticket. The old-fashioned ticket has the feel of a legal document whereas an e-ticket is a scruffy piece of paper that you've managed to extract from your home, akin to printing off dodgy fivers. But the system works, so who are we to question, with our dinosaur thoughts.
Twelve hours on a plane is pretty unforgiving if you are over six feet, but the extra leg room afforded on Malaysian made the flight bearable, despite the food being only mediocre.
Malaysia is obviously a more trusting nation than the UK allowing foreigners into their sovereign nation without any filling in of immigration forms. Passport control and customs were similarly relaxed and courteous.
Into the entrance hall and a young lady was there calling out Mr Tomkinson. She was from Audley's ground agents Discovery Overland and we were efficiently whisked to a waiting car and driver. The driver told us that the journey into the city would take an hour, perhaps more if the rush hour traffic was bad. As it happened and with the aid of a new toll road - that our man took great delight in - traffic was fairly easy until the last mile or so. The driver pointed out various sights along the way and whilst we showed interest, such is our bent that the national football stadium got the most excitement.
It was too our embarrassment that on arrival at the hotel we had no smaller denomination ringetts to tip the bloke. Why cannot banks supply a few ones and fives?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment