A little bit of Christmas Fun. Chapter 1 Christmas

Here we are in December; I love Christmas and all that it promises, family, faith and fairy lights. I’m usually quite religious about putting my tree up 12 days before the 24th and taking it down on the 12th day too, but when I was working in the early days, driving about our home town in Livingston in 1979, it was my guiltiest pleasure to play spot the Christmas tree.

In those days it was exceptional for trees to be put up early so spotting one was rare and spotting one in November was extremely rare. You were guaranteed to see them in December of course and I always found it strangely marvellous that people chose to put them up as soon as December burst onto the scene. I loved to search for the sparkling lights; the multi-colour ones were best, so pretty fanning out in the window like a preening peacock staring out into the wet bleak nights of winter. It wasn’t such a bad way to spend our time, as the roving car all we had to do was drive around, being available or looking for fairy lights while waiting on someone to call for our help.

As a woman (it was the 70’s) I was rarely in the driving seat so I used this prevailing order to give me a massive advantage over my colleagues in this game. As the passenger it left me free to scan the houses and flats that lined our route and spontaneously shout out “Xmas tree!” while they were consigned (in this job) by gender to concentrate on the road. I know for the most part they were humouring me; I was a young naive girl trying to find my way into a man’s world. So my fascination in all things Christmas was almost stereotypical and provided a form of light entertainment for them.

Of course there were the hard nosed individuals, who were not enamoured by my game, but my naive persistence bit into their stoic repudiation to humour me (or ignore my ravings). This was actually a test of their tolerance and acceptance of me and let me know where I stood. By the end of the shift, it was not unusual that they too would be sucked into the search by my girlish enthusiasm for something as simple as looking for Christmas trees in what could often be an otherwise difficult day.

My most guilty pleasure at this time of year in my working life, was the opportunity we had to creep on other people’s Christmas. No matter where we were in the town when you went into a home, there was the chance to glimpse Christmas and all its splendour. Everyone had their own traditions and take on the celebration; sparkling lights, wrapped presents, chocolate advent calendars, bright baubles and flickering candles that added to my catalogue of ideas and developing my own style.

It wasn’t until the late 90’s outside lights began to appear, by which time I was working in Edinburgh. It was a real treat to explore the various parts of the city, to see whether tat or taste was on show. I loved the bright, staccato pulsing colours that lined the roofs, inflatable Santas chained to chimney’s, trains and reindeers pulling present laden sleighs that were most frequently on show in the council estates. While among the bourgeoisie there were single colour white or blue lights gracefully adorning trees, or reindeers and snowmen standing tall, burning brightly and fashionably alone in and among the shrubs and conifers of stately addresses in Edinburgh.

If I was working on Christmas Day or Christmas Eve the sheer excitement of both days was some times tempered with the reasons for us being called to homes during the holidays. On those occasions, the lights were dulled by parents fuelled by drink or children for whom the promise of Christmas had not yet been delivered. Bright lights often belied what lay behind closed doors, all too often we were called in when the lights went out. The thrill of Christmas lights helped to mask the realities of life and everything we had to deal with in our working days………………..

Bring a little belly dancing magic. Chapter 3 Holiday dramas

The weather in Dubai in November can include rain, but not much, while temperatures generally range between 18-31 degrees celsius. The warm weather was the principal reason for visiting albeit for only 5 days. Since serious shopping was curtailed, we shifted our focus to sunbathing. In keeping with other futile attempts to gain good fortune, we had rain for 3 of our five days so sunbathing was ditched just like the serious shopping. Still, we had excursions and sightseeing to look forward to.

Dubai certainly has a lot to offer; the Dubai Mall (despite trying hard not to look at the fabulous jewellery) has an actual aquarium in its midst. In close proximity is the iconic Burj Khalifa surrounded by dancing fountains. I had downloaded the city of Dubai from trip advisor which was a fantastic asset and it guided us to the main attractions in and around the Mall. We ate in one of the many fantastic restaurants located there and although alcohol is not on the menu there was a much greater variety of soft drinks and mocktails to choose from. From the metal divers on the waterfall to the Arabian coffee with camel milk, the visit to the largest Mall in Dubai was memorable.

As it was our anniversary I booked us a desert safari trip, which promised an authentic Bedouin experience; a desert sunset, camel ride, henna tattoos, belly dancing and sheesha in a variety of fruity flavours. There was also some dune bashing which involved quite a rough ride over the dunes by an experienced driver. Now this was the only issue for my husband who lives with a very serious back injury so we asked if we could do without the dune bashing. That was no problem so a private hire, different from the event operator, was arranged to take us direct to the site.

Our driver was lovely, providing us with a commentary on our short ride to the desert. We stopped outside to deflate the tyres which was necessary for dune driving but he reassured us we were not going to be bashing them any time soon. The drive was enjoyable and when we arrived I was busy taking in the sights filled with trepidation and delight at the night ahead of us. We thanked him and he left us to commence our ‘desert experience’.

They made it a special occasion by placing us at our own table, but in all honesty the whole experience was special. We even managed to make a dignified entrance on the camel, despite falling flat on my backside when I tried to disembark. The food was wonderful and unusually alcohol was also on offer. The exotic belly dancing and other entertainment contributed to a fantastic night. All over too soon, darkness fell along with the temperature and we were not dressed for it.

The hundreds of people who were at the event, made their way along with us toward the exit area where similar numbers of blue and white 4×4 vehicles were waiting with their drivers. It began to dawn on me at that point (ok maybe a bit too late) we weren’t too clear about our pick up arrangements, we didn’t have the required number for our vehicle, and we didn’t know which company we had booked with. Within minutes the desert was deserted. We were the last ones standing; no cars, no drivers and no marshal to herd any lost causes- like us.

Thankfully the alcohol had been limited because the temperature was dropping fast. We could see the food being cleared up and that attracted cats. I am terrified of cats. That is sufficient information for now but their appearance had me frozen to the spot. I couldn’t take another step toward the lights that were quickly diminishing as the staff readied to make their way back to their homes. I clung to my better half, as we were forced to forge into cat territory. I was now operating at critical alert status.

Not everyone spoke English, but we managed to secure a barman who, when he got over the initial surprise that we were actually still on site, made several calls to try to find us our driver. We were directed to the Sheesha tent where I was relieved of cat terror for a few moments, reducing the threat level to severe but that could change at any time. We didn’t do the Sheesha, and were becoming increasingly anxious as one by one the lights went out around us.

Finally our saviour in the desert arrived shrugging his shoulders and telling us he couldn’t find anyone willing to take ownership for abandoning us. The strappy dress I was wearing could easily double as a nightie, but it was getting pretty cold and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep here, even if the place was plagued with cats. I could feel the firm lips and cutting glance in my direction from he who rarely makes mistakes, so I avoided his accusatory gaze. But our saviour was not finished yet, he had secured us a lift home with the belly dancer. Instantly the firm lips broke into a smile as he recalled the tiny, beautiful lady who had entertained us so majestically less than an hour ago. I guess that was the point I was reprieved and the journey in this little beauty’s company was more than sufficient for my latest drama in the desert…….

Drama in Dubai- anyone for TV? Chapter 2 Holiday Dramas

Being in Dubai without a credit card, is a bit like forgetting your swimming costume when you go to the SPA, the whole experience is diminished. Shock – Horror we were credit card less in Dubai. And it was not that straightforward to get cash from the ATM’s there either. There was a glimmer of hope however as our lobby, linked into Festival City shopping centre, which had an ATM that actually took our debit card ( thank god). We could access some cash albeit that particular purse was severely limited.

Desperate to look as if we could afford to be here we tried this out, but I could tell it was dawning on the night manager that he was dealing with a right couple of chancers. Any credibility that we were actual customers of a certain standing seemed to have disappeared into the night along with the bogus taxi driver. Despite his obvious misgivings, and probably against his better judgement, we were finally taken to our room, it was 2 in the morning.

Our room was palatial, we had upgraded this so would have been disappointed if the reception cock up meant we would not have been able to get the room we had paid for. But we were comfortably ensconced and with this securely under our belt, I rang the credit card company to establish why my card had been cancelled. OK, I get it I did have a slight idea why, but I also knew that the process had been aborted (I threw the phone away). Frankly I had not expected the automaton (that couldn’t speak Scottish) to have a modicum of brain matter that allowed it, not only to translate my abrupt narrative sufficiently but equally to have the artificial intelligence to complete the incomplete and work out that it needed to cancel my card.

While the call centre staff were helpful and understanding of my plight (even to the point of empathy for the lack of a card in this particular location), there was no way I was going to have my card reactivated and available to me on this holiday. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of my husband, who had remained quite quiet throughout this conversation, breathing a sigh of relief that our bank balance had unwittingly achieved a little reprieve on this particular trip.

At 3am I fell into bed, exhausted, frustrated and annoyed. Sleep in this state was elusive but after about an hour I could feel my eyelids weighted with exhaustion and just about to drop off when the TV (60 inch screen) suddenly jumped into life and bellowed pop music. We sat erect shifting from semi-slumber to wide awake club in seconds. Searching frantically for the doofer to turn it down or off we scrambled from the bed feeling around the furniture before finally locating it on top of the TV unit (where else?). And we zapped it ferociously and the room fell into momentary silence.

Now all we had to do was get back to sleep, but the wheels of frustration started rolling again and it was another 20 minutes before I started to fall asleep. I was just about there………….then the TV lit up again, not quite booming but nevertheless shattering the silence and our sleep. We zapped it again, muted it and tentatively looked at each other before we lay back down on the bed. And this blinking TV insisted on breaching into the bedroom every 30 minutes after that.

On the fourth occasion, I murdered it; frenziedly pulling the wires out of the wall. It lay motionless and blank but it did the trick and finally we were able to get some shut eye. We were both exhausted and deflated as we headed for breakfast the next morning. But first stop reception, where we had become so familiar with the night manager the evening before, to report the malfunctioning tele.

It was while in reception I noticed that there was a bit of tartan adorning the pillars surrounding the Lobby and a poster welcoming the Graduates of Herriot Watt University. All the way to Dubai and a graduation party for a University less than 10 miles from home, it was unbelievable! As we headed for breakfast, sitting at the first table as we entered the buffet, was a lady I knew well enough to have shared more than a few glasses of wine with.

Turns out she was organising the graduation party, what an incredible coincidence. We exchanged niceties but I also regaled the tale of the credit card, (you can tell how much this had upset me). She went immediately to her purse to offer us her card, how tempting it was but I declined this offer, preferring to stew and wallow in my misfortune because I knew my other half was actually breathing a sigh of relief it couldn’t be used.

I was ready to accept this, after all we were on holiday, it was Dubai and nothing else could go wrong, could it???????????????????

Dramas with Dirhams in Dubai. Chapter 1 Book of holiday dramas

A Facebook post this week reminded me of our eventful trip to Dubai in November 2013. It’s really no coincidence that we take holidays in November, it is our wedding anniversary as I have previously intimated. As we couldn’t afford a honeymoon in 1982 every year since I try to organise a holiday masquerading as the honeymoon we never had. We have had a few interesting trips over the years and not always abroad. But if you go in November and you want sunshine you do have to go a bit further to get it and Dubai appeared to deliver that.

I had never been to the Middle East and, as Dubai was enjoying a period of popularity as a holiday destination, it was an easy decision. I made plans and booked our trip some 6 months ahead for November. I was so excited to be staying in Festival City and travelling Emirates for the first time. For me it was an exotic, untested adventure for us and one that promised romance, mystique and intrigue. For my husband; he was not an explorer, he was non-plussed, not one for demonstrating his emotions, instead he prefers to humour my childlike excitement and anticipation for the trip. However on reflection given all the dramas we have experienced perhaps it’s more likely that he’s quietly speculating what calamity will befall us this time (note the choice of tense).

In a totally separate but connected incident the mermaid put my driving licence in between a space in the floorboards a few weeks before we travelled, and unless we wanted to lift the floor ( which we had to do two years later) I had to apply for a new one. I went on-line, but unfortunately it was early in my silver surfing career and I was not aware of the Google algorithms that would prioritise services for me. Hence it was that I was guided to a site, similar to the Government site, but where you had to pay money for what was in essence a free service. I was reasonably far into this application, including having given my credit card details to pay for what was free, when it crashed and everything was lost.

This alerted me to a potential fraud and misappropriation of my visa credit card, so my next move was to cancel that. Now I was more than a little frustrated by this techno failure but cancelling the credit card took that to an entirely a different level. It was an automated system (non-human) requiring you to speak, fine, except it did not speak Scottish (most of them don’t). Despite using my best rolling r’s accent (received pronunciation) I continued to flummox the computer persona, unable to make any progress with the process, and as I was already frazzled I discontinued the call (threw the phone away) half way through.

I didn’t hear another word from them, and having calmed down sufficiently to make rational decisions, I determined that since the process had failed my card was still active. The card details did not appear to have been compromised so I was going to forget about cancelling it.

The next two weeks flew past, and soon it was time to head off to Dubai. When we arrived at the airport we were immediately approached by a man offering to taxi us to our hotel. Although we later became suspicious of him, when he took us to his car in the car park, we initially judged him harmless and threw in our cases and got in the back. Nothing about this vehicle looked like a taxi, there was no meter, it was sparkling clean (should have been a clue), but lacked any safety or regulatory notices. Our hotel was only a five minute drive from the airport so despite nervously exchanging glances and holding onto our hand luggage just that little bit tighter, we made a timely and safe arrival.

When he charged us 100 Dihram I contemplated whether that was bit too much, but to be honest we were more relieved we hadn’t been slaughtered or kidnapped by this random individual posing as a taxi driver. What a start to our holiday… I was immediately distracted by this absolutely fantastic hotel; splendour and glamour emanated from within the Lobby, which was a vault of statement, stature and style. It was midnight and although there was an absence of guests, clearly staff were still milling around in numbers and smartly whisked our cases off to the desk and corralled us into the reception

Exhausted from the travelling, overwhelmed by the Lobby and relieved we had our lives intact, we prepared to check-in. I provided our details and waited, taking in our palatial surroundings I noted it was almost 1230am. We waited, then the desk clerk went off to find the night manager ( sorry, it was not Tom Hiddleston). He arrived and while we continued to wait, both of them were transfixed by a screen, muttering in Arabic, and then making another call which had the effect of summoning a woman. Half an hour passed while all three continued to stare at the screen, before finally informing me that our booking had been cancelled. Flabbergasted, but ready for retaliation I proudly produced the email confirmation. This created further palaver and to-ing and fro-ing, all the while being reassured that everything would be fine. Then suddenly to a cacophony of 1000 apologies, we were allocated our room, our anxiety palpably disappearing momentarily. ” We just need your credit card” and I handed it over.

We did not have many Dirhams with us, and had planned to rely on using our credit card to savour many of the treasures that Dubai had to offer. But that was until the manager advised me it had been cancelled……………………

Paradise can wait…. Chapter 28

There are times in life when you know beyond question what the right thing to do is. I found a wide range of blogs out there to ‘advise’ you what you might need to do if someone you love becomes ill when you are on holiday. We are never known to do things by halves, so you won’t be surprised to learn that in our case there were two people whom we love that had been admitted to hospital. This was also impacting on the family who remained at home trying to cope with the situation. In the end the blogs themselves were interesting but we didn’t need the advice really, if you have a dilemma it matters not a jot what’s in your mind, for us it was about what was in our hearts.

When the decision was made, all that remained was to light the blue touch paper and ignite the plans. Of course we had insurance but the mechanics of getting home, where to begin, were a bit of a mystery. I had a bit of an idea but my husband admitted if he had been on his own, he would have struggled to know where to start. Even if you have an idea it’s still a bit tricky when you are out with the UK, to know where to begin.

A sensible first stop was British Airways our carrier, then the insurance company, so I sent off emails. Given the time difference I sent them off on Wednesday morning at 5am St Lucia time, then spent the entire day checking my emails for their response. (For the record the insurance company have yet to reply despite being home 2 days now). It felt as though we were suspended in virtual paradise while we awaited the return emails to begin our descent into reality.

As we waited, we were able to receive hourly reports from home thanks to lots of texts on WhatsApp, which was free when we had WiFi (otherwise the phone bill would be off the scale). We were also able to make internet and video calls free that enabled us to get a real handle on the ever shifting sands of the evolving situation.

There were tears; emotions were constantly on show, we were on high alert to every ping and tinkle of the phone. The appeal of all Coconut Bay had to offer paled into insignificance. We drifted in and out of conscious awareness that the difficulties were ever present on the other side of the world, and these were having a massive impact on our ability to take any real part in our holiday. It was over as soon as we arrived to be honest.

By Thursday we had an email response from BA, only to find I’d cocked up and had contacted the wrong department. They apologised for this causing an administrative delay, (admitting they didn’t deal with urgent matters normally) and provided us with alternative contact information. Another discussion with family further confused our decision but that was momentary. No sooner had things started to sound hopeful in Edinburgh, when more bad news emerged from Glasgow. It was so obvious someone, somewhere was trying to tell us we should not be here.

Our minds made up we made an emotional approach to reception. It was clear this was not for the daily currency exchange and when the penny dropped staff stepped up to the next level from the usual laconic holiday approach. Although we had the number, reception took charge and helped us to place our call. After a few attempts it was apparent that the local BA office was not going to be able to help us promptly. Our second call was international and answered in a call centre, but they quickly realised that once again we were in the wrong place. Instead of starting all over again Raoul put us on hold and transferred us (and thankfully all our information) to the right place.

Albert, ( also worthy of a name mention) took no more than fifteen minutes to get us on the flight that evening, waived all costs, arranged airside assistance and our same flight seating that we had on the way out. This is when you are so grateful you have booked with British Airways. We had 10 hours to pack, grab the last of the Caribbean sunshine, gather our thoughts, build up our energy and hope that we would arrive in time to see and support our loved ones……

A little bit of paradise. Chapter 27

St Lucia is one of the smaller Caribbean islands, easily accessed by British Airways. Our hotel, Coconut Bay Resort and Spa, was situated on the Atlantic coast a mere 5 minutes from Henowarra International airport. We were here on a recommendation from my son and his wife and were looking forward to two weeks in the Caribbean sun.

The Atlantic coastal beaches have been plagued by Saragossa seaweed, making the beach almost inaccessible. This was a shame as the gardens of our hotel , with just a few steps, linked us directly with the Atlantic Ocean. Ever since we had arrived strong winds were whipping up foaming white surf, laced with Saragossa seaweed that it spewed out angrily, unrecognised and unwanted by its host, and directly onto our beach. Local information suggests the unusual appearance is as a result of climate change but is not entirely clear whether that has been proven. As a result the Hotel had arranged twice daily transfers to a Caribbean Sea beach located just 10 minutes away. I was looking forward to trying that out.

From our bedroom window a few hundred yards to the right a couple of large volcanic rock formations protruded from the ocean floor posing as mini mountains, or small islands. Brightly coated with a variety of green foliage they gave the impression of secluded islands decorated by white surf and sandy beaches. We were tempted out to these idyllic escapes with the offer of night cruises. It was a beautiful view and we were so fortunate to even be here to see it.

The hotel has two functions to serve those that don’t want to be disturbed by children and those children who don’t want adults spoiling their fun. For this reason the resort is split into Harmony and Splash. I will let you work out which is which. It is an all inclusive resort so peppered with cabanas, restaurants, swim up pool bars, jerk tree huts all feeding off the central lobby. The Coconut Walk buffet caters for most tastes and thankfully most children, leaving the fine dining to those of us able to actually appreciate it. Not that Coconut Walk didn’t delight in its range and variety of savoury and sweet delights, but the whole self-service school dining experience leaves me aching for silver service, especially on holiday.

Welcoming cocktails contain premium spirits so no chance of tummy upsets unless you over indulge. Wine, red, white or sparkling was also on offer and in the evening it was rather pleasant by the bar to take in the ambience of all types and characters disguised as holidaymakers gathering for dinner.

At the pool, staff aimlessly wander around taking drinks orders, impressively without pen nor paper, memorising the concoctions that needed to be delivered hastily just before the ice melted. Thankfully there were no quibbles about nabbing beds, there were plenty of options and more than a few swimming pools to chose from depending on your sun bathing needs.

We made friend with some Americans, here to be married, we shared a glass of bubbles in the evening with fellow diners, we sampled steak, tried out four other restaurants each with a Caribbean twist, found the staff courteous and helpful, always smiling and keen to know if you were enjoying your stays, they emanated a sense of pride and loyalty that was genuine in their conversations with guests.

Everything was as it should be; our sea view, spacious bedroom, balcony, swans crafted from towels and fresh flora fanned out on the bed welcomed us to paradise, and for a few moments we were.

Sadly its all over too soon, on the first actual day of our holiday an unforeseen drama which now bids us home began to unfold. Less than a week into our paradise we are waiting in the departure lounge of the airport not knowing what our future might hold……

Performing Seal. Chapter 23

This was a big week; depending on my performance, the home physio and GP had my holiday in the palm of their hands. Although I had made many mistakes when it came to holiday planning, this time it was in someone else’s hands. I was keeping everything crossed as the departure date was imminent.

First up-the physio, they had called ahead to ask if I was happy with a student attending. This was quite an interesting prospect after all there were more than a few learning opportunities for medical staff on my journey so having the chance to influence someone fresh out of the wrapper was mouthwatering.

It’s crazy how much I was looking forward to this appointment, I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve. They arrived on time and the student asked permission to lead the session. We identified the priorities; “I cannot sit, I’m hoping to go on holiday and struggling to walk”. This young man, was confident, listened attentively to my explanation and reassured me with several nods of understanding that felt so genuine, which was something I had seen so infrequently from some medical professionals. So far so good.

He advised that the pool on holiday would be ideal for exercising my leg, walking but no swimming that was too vigorous. My heart skipped a beat – did he just say that! my eyes popped as a result of the heart skipping. I digested this statement and quickly flicked my gaze to the senior physio who had accompanied him. She didn’t appear fazed nor was she forcing these words back in to his mouth, instead she was looking at him intently assessing his guidance and advice without a flinch. It must be ok to go, could that be right?

“Let’s get you sitting” and within minutes he had me standing on my good leg, curling the bad leg behind me. I had to do 30 a day, no more no less. I felt like a performing seal, my tongue protruding from my mouth and gasping loudly with each repetition. (Did I just make that noise?) Such was the level of concentration I’d lost touch with reality. Fair play to him, his good manners ensured that he contained his laughter at this performance. “Next let’s introduce some weight bearing on the bad leg”. He encouraged me to stand on one leg, both hands steadying me on the settee against another fall. A performing seal now a flaming flamingo, nevertheless I was so elated at being able to achieve this.

After a few travails up and down the red carpet he had me ready for the catwalk with an improved technique for using the crutches. I was really working it now. “Take a hot water bottle on the plane they can fill it for you, get some mobility assistance and you’ll be fine”. I asked about DVT’s and they gave me some simple exercises to repeat on the flight. That pretty much concluded their visit with a follow-up appointment after the holiday. I actually want to jump for joy ( don’t worry I won’t yet).

The blood test results revealed a slight improvement in my blood levels, certainly enough to allow me to get away. Again some advice from the GP about DVT’s and I was good to go. Finally I could pack the case. However I had one last test to pass, and it was significant.

The final test was an indulgence I had been denied since before the accident. It was a social occasion; a dinner invitation to sample some Tuscan fare with our friends. I could hardly contain my joy but I how would I cope? I had not enjoyed any wine for over 12 weeks. I put on some make-up, looked out a figure hugging outfit ( you have to make the most of this weight loss it wasn’t likely to last) and off we set. Conversation, music, wine, Prosecco, debate, music, company, fabulous food, oh how I had missed that.

I can confirm I passed that test with flying colours, yes normal service has been resumed and it’s true!! At last I am OFF to the Caribbean……………….

Lightening never strikes twice? Chapter 22

Now you can fully appreciate why unreasonable levels of high anxiety are generated when it comes to me and holidays. Our Florida experience, you would think, should pretty much rule out the chance of any future aggravation. (Lesson’s learned and all that). Except, it seems, I was at it again. The Caribbean holiday, as a matter of record is currently under threat because of me. I get that it was an accident but only I could end up with the kind of limiting injury that might threaten a holiday!

It’s a big week because the home physio and the GP need to support me with a positive assessment to enable us to go, but even if we do get there it’s bound to be a very diluted experience. So what happened to compound this drama with the Florida files and another holiday we had planned for Australia? Life and its little dramas!

It was momentary sympathy, I have no doubt, that crushed my husband’s steely resolve to finally agree that we might go to Australia. I was ‘dumfoonert’ by the lowering of his resistance. This was a pretty big wish that had been falling on deaf ears for the past 6 years. So I didn’t lose any time sending for the brochure.

I noticed an availability sheet was considerately included in my brochure pack. On reflection this was a great marketing tool, because it had SOLD OUT across most of the available dates. This, as I’m sure it was designed to, created sufficient panic to initiate action. I didn’t seem to notice the availability sheet was for 2018/19. Instantly I discovered that our preferred date November 2019 was sold out ( our anniversary). I recall thinking it must be very popular to sell out a year in advance! Wow we were booking something amazing here!

The next available date was February the following year. This appears to be the point where we were in different time zones. In my book the year after 2019 was 2020 (a big birthday for me). Our discussion focused on the relevance of this year which reinforced my belief that we were talking about 2020. We elected for extra stays in Singapore and Bali and changed our flights. It all looked fantastic and I paid the necessary deposit. I was elated to have secured a booking to my dream destination and although it was some way off at least we had a year to save the cash to pay for it.

Lying on my sofa, as I have pretty much become accustomed to doing for the past 8 weeks, with my iPad on my lap, I flicked through my emails. Distant Journeys had sent me an email so I opened it and to my horror realised it contained an invoice for my trip – in February 2019.

How the hell could I make the same mistake twice? But I had. Again. I could feel the viscous liquid rise in my throat. I stared at the email, willing the date to magically morph into what I needed it to be. It’s got to be their mistake (never mine!). I reflected on my recollection of the conversation and it all seemed to point to it being their error (isn’t the brain a wonderful machine). Looking for more concrete evidence I checked their email confirmation and there it was in big, black, bold letters – February 2019.

With my tail very much concealed behind my sore leg, I called them and sheepishly pointed out my mistake. In all reality we could have travelled in February 2019, but I’m not sure how my mobility would be over a month of quite strenuous travelling. Even more ball breaking was how I was going to find the balance for this holiday? Due the same day we were hoping to leave for the Caribbean. Thank goodness for reputable companies who live up to their reviews. I was organised and rescheduled within minutes. Now you might appreciate why the Caribbean is still up in the air. All that remained for me to do was relate the latest debacle to my better half………………

Last call. Chapter 21

You certainly cannot dash or rush anywhere with 2 kids, 5 cases, 4 bags and a buggy. The cases and bags kept falling over, we couldn’t manage them ourselves and couldn’t locate a trolley. The promised liason with our son-in-law at this location was yet to materialise. Tick, tick, tick time was marching on..

We finally made it to the lift. While the benefit of this airport was the proximity of the rental car drop to the main terminal, it also meant the only available lift was busy. Most people waiting for the lift were in the same boat as us, but had way more help than we did. In fairness one glance in our direction and they could smell the panic. They allowed us into the first available lift and we made our way to the check in desk in double quick time.

There was an emotional reunion between the parents and their kids, but icy cool stares guided me directly to the check-in desk. Our flight was at 5.15pm and it was now 4.38pm. My daughter had done a great job preparing the check-in staff for our tardiness. The next flight was also checking in but as it was full we had no chance of getting on that if we missed ours. If that happened we were looking at tomorrow and another 5k for tickets.

“Passports please”. I turned to my husband to ask for the satchel with the passports (all six of them), but a frantic scattering and searching among the assembled bags suggested it was not there. I knew it was there, it just hadn’t jumped out at them yet. So frustrated I stomped over to my family, fuming that I was the only one capable of locating it. No-one dared say what they were thinking as I checked among the various bags, in the buggy, under the baby until I finally accepted it wasnt there. Tick, tick, tick.

I hoped it would be in the car, back at the rental centre. I suddenly felt as if I had been squeezed into a glass bottle that was quickly filling up with washing up liquid, it’s viscous slimy, green liquid frothing up my legs, belching into my stomach and now engulfing my throat. Everyone was looking at me, a mixture of disgust and disappointment all over their faces. I made a bolt for the lift. My son-in-law, caught my eye, much like a whippet out of the stocks after the hare, he vaulted the bags and hurtled toward the car rental centre. I got into an empty lift, (maybe I could beat him) but instantly collapsed to my knees and screamed. I knew now it was futile, our flight was boarding in 20 minutes and we hadn’t even cleared security or checked in yet.

As the lift docked I met my son-in-law hurtling toward me with the missing bag and sat nav both which had been languishing in the passenger seat in the car. ( yes my seat, my fault). I tried to catch him but he was on a mission and it was all I could do to keep up with him. By the time I arrived back I was thrust to the front of the queue ignoring the irate passengers waiting to book in for the later flight. I snarled at them trying to avoid the gaze of my family as they waited with bated breath to find out if we were going home. I glanced at the clock it was 4.55pm.

The check-in assistant typed in the information, she seemed oblivious to me, refusing to acknowledge me as I constantly sought answers to my question “Will we make the flight?” A supervisor was summoned, they chatted off stage left. Perspiration was flooding down my neck, I was flushing, I needed a shower, I wanted to cry. I glanced back at the kids their little faces watching me hopefully. The adults in the group eyed me with great contempt. Finally the supervisor came forward advising that we could proceed but had 15 minutes to make it to the flight.

I let out a howl of relief, then joined the others as we grabbed the remaining luggage and bolted into the security hall. We had no special treatment, no access to express security and we hadn’t packed with security regulations in mind. No-one knew what was in any of the bags. The line for security was 10 lanes deep, for a nano second we breathed out despondently, then in my loudest voice I said our flight was leaving in 10 minutes. People turned to stare; we were dishevelled, inappropriately dressed and, all too apparent, in a total state of panic.

I felt like Moses at the Red Sea; the line parted without a word allowing us to pass through. We flung our bags onto the trays, but that same panic only drew attention to us in security, and sure enough bags were removed for further inspection. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest as I had no idea what might be in the bags. I heard a final call for our family booming down the corridor as I watched and prayed that the searches would prove fruitless. Minutes felt like hours, I needed to pee, finally we were all re-assembled and ran like a herd of bison onto the gate and into the plane.

The doors closed behind us as we found our seat and sat down. There were sighs of relief, there was even laughter, my husband suggested this was much more preferable to waiting around in departures and me? I burst into tears………………

Marriage has its ups and downs! Chapter 20

My oasis of calm descended into instant chaos. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew what to expect from my husband. However, I had to suck it up and allow the anxiety levels to escalate and subside in their own time. After all we had to get to the airport and catch that flight home. We had just over 2 hours till departure with nothing packed, a fridge full of food and toys everywhere. We were the only 2 adults here with so much to do……….so he went for a shower.

My wee mermaid was in tears, so sad to be leaving Disney but after a brief cuddle (it was all I could do) she complied with my request to get ready to leave immediately. Less than a minute later she was back in the room dressed, wearing her backpack and hat, smiling and ready to go, totally over the shock of leaving. More than I could say for her Papa, I could still hear him cursing me from the shower. I tasked her with looking under every bed and in every drawer putting everything she found into the middle of the floor. She set off on this task with fervour. (She was only 7). I also sent a text to my daughter to call us urgently.

I was on hold to British Airways on the landline, I’m not sure why but it seemed to be the most obvious thing to suggest “Hold the flight! we were coming”. I checked us all in on the mobile then, while still on hold, frantically trawled the room pulling everything into one place making it easier to pack it when my hands were free.

As you would expect on any two week holiday order and organisation had not had time to materialise in our villa. Clothes were scattered between 4 bedrooms or in the washing machine, nothing was in drawers, toys were strewn around the floor. All our purchases were stowed in cupboards still in bags, odd shoes and socks were secreted in corners and toiletries dispersed between each of the 3 bathrooms.

5 suitcases yawned hungrily in the centre of the room, the little mermaid filling them slowly; every discovery was studied closely and prompted a story. I was throwing things haphazardly into any case, nothing was folded, everything ownerless. While this mayhem unfolded little T was sound asleep blissfully unaware in his cot (best left there meantime). I hung up my unanswered call to BA when my daughter finally found WiFi and called us from the park.

She was so calm when I relayed the facts and she realised that her date day was over. (I think she was relieved there was nothing up with the kids). We advised that we would pick them up on the way to the airport. I lost the call as my better half emerged from his shower smelling fresh as a daisy and smartly dressed. Meanwhile I was bedraggled; my wet bikini soaking through my t-shirt and jeans, still being berated for this latest faux pas. Finally it was time to waken wee T . He immediately reacted to the stress levels by screaming every time I tried to put him on the ground. So while I continued to sweep the villa for remaining items I had to carry and reassure him.

In a frenzy of disjointed activity we finally threw the last bag in the car and like a scene from fast and furious wheel-spun out of our gated community heading for the I4 on a busy Friday afternoon. We now had 38 minutes to get to the airport usually more than an hour away. My daughter had the wherewithal to head direct to the airport with a plan to keep the check-in staff on side and allow us as much time as possible to make it there. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

The journey was peppered with expletives, thankfully drowned out by the radio which the kids were enjoying in the back, I wished I was sat with them. There were 7 toll booths between us and the airport, and for the first 4 we tossed in our change grateful to by-pass the queues. However for the remaining 3 we had to stew, waiting behind tourists with questions or looking for directions, watching our precious minutes dissolve along with our hopes of making the flight.

We had to arrive at the gate by 4.30pm and pulled into the airport at exactly 4.29. Instead of the orderly rental handover , we bailed as fast as 5 cases, 4 bits of hand luggage, a buggy and two kids would allow. With five minutes to go we set off to find check-in ………………………