Leaving Blighty

The alarm went off at 5am. I was well in the land of nod, dreaming the car had broken down in a tunnel somewhere. Up we got and by 5:45, we were on the road. It was then I realised that amongst all the other stuff going on in my head, the directions to the parking lot (talking yank already!) weren’t. No problem, we stopped at the service area on the M25 and programmed the phone, Purple Parking, Heathrow.

I didn’t recognise the way were we being directed. A “you have reached your destination” confirmed what I had feared, there is more than one Purple Parking at Heathrow! DOH!   Postcode entered, we arrived at the correct PP within 10 minutes. Still on schedule.

To greet us, the heavens opened. Shan’t miss this. Have a nice wet Bank Holiday everyone.

Cases loaded, we were the only 2 people heading for Terminal 3. The driver a chatty fellow was very accommodating, getting us as close as possible to the terminal door and grabbing us a trolley. He got a tip for his trouble, practise for us for the coming 3 weeks.

Check in was slick enough, security not so but we made it through. Catherine, as usual, set off the alarm, giving the lady on the gate the excuse to stick her hand into Catherine’s pants!

Making our way to the gate, we hadn’t even sat down when they were ushering us on board the aircraft. Lady Love she was called. Taking our seat, with the other 123 passengers, we  prepared for our 8 hour 9 minute flight.