My flight was delayed by longer than I care to think about, ironic as I was in a panic at the railway station when I learned the train I planned to catch had been cancelled. A quick reroute, and I arrived at the airport more or less on time. And then had to kill it in a series of crowded areas amid families heading off for their summer hols. When I booked my flight I hadn't considered that this was the weekend after many schools in England would have broken up for the summer and hence one of the busiest times for travel all year.
We left Luton as the sun was setting. The sun is still setting. The sky looks much as it did thirty minutes ago, but we are flying north where the days are significantly longer at this time of year than in London and the Home Counties.
From which you have worked out that I am off to Cousin's again and flying to Belfast. I have no plans, or rather I had no plans, but in the moments before take off a swift exchange of texts and now I am seeing a friend tomorrow. Earlier texts at the airport with Speccy means that Tuesday afternoon is also pencilled in the diary as a possible time to meet up.
I expect she has doubled in size since I saw her. While I was in NI she seemed to grow very day.
Like many young things she’s a bundle of energy, racing about, demanding play from the two adult dogs, then suddenly keeling over and sleeping soundly while her batteries recharged.
The man who sat next to me on the ‘plane wanted to talk. Unlike me, he wasn’t headed for a break. He had left Belfast on a dawn flight and was now on the way home after a day’s work. He was pessimistic about the weather, telling me that although we might have been having a non-summer in England it was nowhere near as bad as in NI. This was hardly welcome as I had left London basking in 30c. You could almost feel the city relaxing its muscles, unbuttoning its top button and kicking off its shoes.
At the airport Cousin and I managed to miss each other. Now if you don’t know Belfast International you might be forgiven for imagining some massive Heathrow complex. It is petite, an intimate size for an airport. We still don’t know how we did it. It would have challenged a choreographer of Frederick Ashton’s skill to make sure we were not in the same space at the same time. I assumed she was delayed. She assumed she had mistaken the day. I wandered out to the front of the airport to get some air. I had just looked up from my ‘phone where I had established I did not have her mobile number when I saw her walking past me.
“Hello,” I said.
We drive back and I reacquainted myself with Westie Boy who was full of beans and has quite forgotten all his Clicker training. I can see I may be busy this week. At the end of the day he was tired and wanted sleep.