Plane Sailing

They say that there is a first for everything. This is, once again, another thing they say that makes you wonder why 'they' are allowed to ever speak their stupid minds. Of course there is a first for everything. Its how numbers work. If you did something having never done it before but discovered it was the second time this had happened then you would need to closely investigate the possibilities of you time traveling as a prank on your self. Of course firsts happen first. Today, I missed a flight for the first time ever in my life. Ever. The neurotic little man inside my shell of a neurotic little man is dealing with this whole occurrence far better than I had expected it ever would. It helps that there are other flights. This is one of the benefits of this here future that we're in, that flights happen all the blooming time. Sure it means the ozone is being destroyed, the environment is collapsing and terrible situations like what's currently happening in Japan are probably all directly linked to it, but I'm really pleased I can just hop on the next flight to Edinburgh for the neat sum of most of my life's savings. Actually that's not true. It was more money than I wanted to spend but for once, despite the ever sarcastic look on the man at the check in desks face as he informed me that as of 3 minutes ago they weren't letting anyone else onto the plan, Easyjet lived up to their name and sorted everything else out in a jiffy. That's an ancient parent type term for quick. I wasn't expressing that they handed me all documents in a padded envelope.

Oh and yes, 3 minutes is all I missed my flight by. That's it. Waking up this morning with a sniffly nose, and most of my voice whispering hoarsely in a way that only benefits me if I want to do a Tom Waits impression (its currently very good. Do ask if you see me. I won't do it for you. I'm not your performing monkey. Do ask anyway though. And I'll tell you to fuck off. Like Tom Waits would) today hurriedly seemed like it was against me. Cue rushing to Finsbury Park station on the slowest bus in the universe, only to find when I got there that I'd left my cash card at home, involving a journey back on the same bus, which now, having to do the route in reverse, seemed even more confused. Getting home I grabbed my card and my car - one was not a dyslexic mistake for the other - and drove like the wind on a stupidly small amount of petrol to Stanstead. The transfer bus from the parking place seemed to be driven by a relative of the earlier bus driver and when I finally made it I was 3 whole minutes too late. Was the plane still there? Yes they said. Was it boarding yet? No they said. Would I feasibly have time to get to it and on it without holding it up? Yes, easily. Can I check in? No. The logic of this completely evaded me. It felt as though I was being berated by someone who clearly missed out on school trips because they hit snooze on the alarm too many times and were now exacting their revenge.

I'm never late for anything. I have, what my friend Mat refers to, as an overdeveloped sense of urgency. This usually means I am places irritatingly early and bored out of my mind as a result. Even when I try my best to be on time or a tiny bit late, something will occur such as the bus driver being an F1 reject and I'll end up early again. So today there must be some misalignment of the stars, some cosmic entity messing things up or perhaps I'm just a bit full of a cold and slower than normal. Who knows? But now I can comfortably sit down, eat a Pret brownie and chill for 2 hours, I'm wondering if I should try this again soon. My flight back on Wednesday is very early. I could just get a later one. There's still time to have a first for missing a plane intentionally...