“This is a further and final invitation for passengers Davies and Burton to proceed to gate sixty eight for flight T3 4386 Eastern Airways to the Isle of Man”. I didn’t know who passenger Burton was, but passenger Davies was definitely, and inescapably me. Pushing aside the immediate feeling of unfairness, I hastily polished off my well-earned glass of wine, gathered my belongings, and hurried off in the direction of the departure gates.
It had taken me three and a half hours to get to this point, and had started with the mid-morning decision to leave work at midday, a little earlier than planned. A warning bell had been clanging all morning after Classic FM’s traffic and travel news at 8.30am. The usual place. The right turn at St Fagan’s. After her usual introductory banter about bagels, or her evening out yesterday, Jay-Louise Knight had announced that there were serious problems on the M5 somewhere. I couldn’t remember where. I decided to err on the side of caution and set off very early for Birmingham airport. So when I hit traffic in a very unusual place I was initially quite confident. I had plenty of time. But an hour later and scarcely two miles further on, I was showing signs of stress, and was wondering whether my ticket was flexible enough for a free transfer to the evening flight. But I needn’t have worried. Although there were further threatening ‘Queue Caution’ signs, none of these came to pass and I arrived at Long Stay Car Park 1 with enough time and in a calm state of mind.
The screens in the main departure lounge had showed I had twenty minutes before boarding, and I had decided to relax with a glass of wine and look forward to the weekend ahead. “This is a further and final invitation for passengers Davies and Burton to proceed to gate sixty eight for flight T3 4386 Eastern Airways to the Isle of Man”. It certainly hadn’t been twenty minutes, and I definitely hadn’t heard a first call. By the time I got to gate sixty eight, Passenger Burton had got there before me, and I was the last to step aboard the bus, taking in my stride the faintly accusatory glances from the eight other passengers.
As we soared over the Irish Sea I looked down on the water glinting in the sun, and found myself smiling. A weekend at home in Peel ahead of me.