Four Legged Journey

I’ve decided that I’m going to call a halt to my career as a professional procrastinator. It’s way too stressful. I was packing 10 mins before I was due to leave. And tell me, if I’m only going to be here, why do I need 6 pairs of shoes? I need taking in hand with my packing, I really do.

The first leg of my journey started out with me standing at a bus stop waiting to go into the city to catch my National Express coach. When I finally got to the bus station, panicking and stressed, I was pleasantly surprised. National Express decided I was a VIP and laid on a coach just for me. Seriously, I was the only passenger. The driver, a bubbly blonde woman, was such a sweetie. I sat up front so I could chat to her and we had such a laugh. Bless her, she even got me a fish and chip dinner in Attleborough. Goodness knows what the new driver thought of the smell, but I hid the evidence. Unfortunately, she finished at Stansted, and then other passengers invaded my space! Humpf. The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful, if a bit chilly and noisy. Fortunately, I had my MP3 player and a weird game of I-spy with Monkfish to keep me occupied, as well as several calls from my Viking.

The second leg started with me in Gatwick airport. After I arrived, I had a quick recky to look for somewhere to kip for the night. I also had the most expensive, worst cup of tea ever. I cannot describe how disgusting it was. I know, given the circumstances, its a bit petty going on about tea, but honestly: it was vile.

I found finally found a bucket chair on the second level and began what was, one of the most surreal nights I’ve ever spent. Despite the fact it was only 23.00, all of the best spots were taken: the upholstery benches without armrests. I was quite pleased with my seat. It was next to long wooden benches with armrests, so I felt slightly smug in bagging my chair. With a bit of wiggling, I stretched out with my legs propped up on top of my suitcase, on the wheely trolley. I attached my backpack to my suitcase and then loosened the straps so I could get one of my legs through. I had my mobile phone on my chest set to vibrate (no comments on that thanks guys - you know who you are) to wake me up at 3.40, so I could beat the queue for the 4.30 check in. Unfortunately, I was sat opposite a bank of arcade games, including House of the Dead 3. My 3 or so hours sleep was punctuated with moans, screams and gunfire. I rolled my woolly hat over my eyes and dozed.
Every time I had to shift position, I woke up, pushed up my hat, shifted about and pulled hat down again. I’d have a quick look around and there would be more people sleeping next to me. All of the wooden benches were taken with other travelers. There was someone’s feet by my head and by my feet were someone else’s head. Not far from me two couples struck up a conversation which lasted the whole time I was dozing. It wasn’t at all annoying, the rise and fall of their voices was actually quite reassuring. Almost as if they were the sentinels guarding us sleepers. Note to self: learn not to pack so much.

The third leg, I spent a bit like a pretzel, dozing. The food was atrocious, but hey, you pay peanuts for a flight which should have cost 800.00GBP (no pound signs on this keyboard), you kind of expect a lack of frills. I am not a keen flyer. I really don’t like it that much. I’m nervous on take off and landing. I hate turbulence. However, while perusing the safety card. Hah! I noticed the make of aircraft. It was a Boeing 767-300 G-VKNG. Note to self: take pack up for the next flight.
Third leg was the most dodgy. After spending most of my time in a queue in Crown Point International Airport for immigration. I had to lug my bag of bricks around as I sorted out the flight to Trinidad. Many, many thanks to my sister-in-law for sorting out a ticket. This small airport gets an influx of 1000 travelers twice a week and seriously can’t cope. If I would have had to wait on standby for the Tobago Express (the little shuttle between the two islands), I would have been screaming. The shuttle was a small plane with twin props. It was a heck of a flight. I’ve decided that, yes, size does matter. I like BIG airplanes. It’s disconcerting feeling the small plane bouncing on clouds. Turbulence seems so much worse.

The fourth leg brought me home. My mum always laughingly called him The Factotum, a bit of a misnomer, because he looked after me throughout my childhood. He drove me to and from school, parties, helped me with my maths homework, looked after my parents and their home. We met up and headed home. Much of Trinidad has changed. There are now 3 lane highways where there were only one. Lots of construction and new shiney buildings. American billboards with Ben Affleck smile down on drivers weaving in and out of lanes. Indicator? What’s one of those? The traffic has got so bad that the Factotum took us the scenic route which shaved a half an hour off our journey. Night had fallen, but I was still able to recognise the places I visited when I was growing up.
It was good to see Pops. He is has lost weight, but not his smile or sense of humour. I brought him lots of naughtiness: chocolate. It’s been good catching up with him. He says I’m good for him, for the first time in a month he slept for 7 hours, instead of the 2/4 he’s been having. As I write this he’s off having his radiation therapy. The specialist says it will keep him comfortable and active for longer and it isn’t the nightmare that is chemo. I am so pleased he decided not to go that route. He seems fairly philosophical.

I’m glad I came. It’s good to be here.