The Airport.

The airport: Heaven or hell?
I pose this question after debating over it with my sister. She adamantly insists that the airport is a place to get excited about, what with the hustle, bustle and holiday waiting at the other end. I beg to differ.
For me, a relationship with airports that was once based on an excitement about plane food, suitcase carousals and those goody bags that the air hostesses used to hand out; has since turned bitter. Let me explain why…
In april I was lucky enough to get invited to Italy, and the trip itself was brilliant – Milan, mountains and other gorgeousities…but then came airport time, uh oh. Now, before I continue I want to make a few things clear. I’m slightly ditsy. Dotty, scatty, feather-brained, in a word: useless. Therefore, naturally me and airports do not mix. And this time was not an exception. On arriving at the check-out, myself and my long-suffering friend found out that we were, wait for it… TWELVE hours late to our flight. The plane left at 10.00 in the morning. Apparently they use 24 hour clocks on booking information – something which I was blissfully unware of until we were standing in Milan airport, at 9.00 in the evening wondering whether Easter in Italy sounded like such a bad idea after all.
Luckily, there was in fact a flight leaving at 10,00pm, so we still had a chance to catch it – but it would cost us £180 each. Suddenly staying with Sally at Easter sounded like a brilliant idea, we could just double the length of our holiday and come back when the flights were cheaper…but then, I remembered.
It was three days until Easter. Easter equals simnel cake. Simnel cake requires eager cook (i.e me). In other words, a simnel cake would not be adorning our kitchen table if I did not make it home. Suddenly the stakes were risen.
To cut a long story short, I have been paying that debt back to my mum, each measly penny of it, ever since.
So that, my friends is why I don’t like airports. For me, they are littered with booby traps. One misplaced passport, one pair of scissors which have mysteriously found their way into your pencil case, one misread ticket…and you’ve been caught…
Happy holidays!