Well I got here. Actually got here.

In a way it’s not surprising but when “here” is a completely different country it’s maybe not unusual that I am expressing surprise…

So following on from last week, Sunday found me packing my laptop, some necessary accessories and a few bits of clothing into a walk on bag and a rucksack and setting out to Gatwick Airport.

At least with a rental property here I wasn’t having to wonder about furnishings, etc. so travelling light – certainly initially – was an option.

Mind you, even light is potentially too heavy with the state of my back so it was definitely a “greater good” option of destroy back muscles now for a future benefit.

Gatwick here I come.

Train first. Even given the usual UK Sunday service there were no problems with the trains.

Ended up sat on a seat on a platform waiting for my second train, sandwich in hand, freezing my whatsits off – 13C at lunchtime with a lazy wind.

Nature’s way of telling me I was making the right decision? Couldn’t possibly comment…

And there I was, Gatwick. With nearly two hours to go before the flight.

What could POSSIBLY go wrong?

Well – eventually – nothing

but I was really grateful for the blood pressure meds I take during the process.

Firstly, all flights are departing from North Terminal, i.e., not the one you arrive at by public transport.

So you start following the signposts for North Terminal. Or not.

Maybe it’s just me but the I ended up following someone who may or may not have known where they were going only to end up back outside after which I went back in again.

Followed the real sign for North Terminal and found the shuttle which delivered me without any problem to the entrance for North.

As I walked through the door I came across what looked like the UK’s longest conga snaking from Security down to the far end of the terminal, round the corner, back on itself and eventually came to an end near ranks of unopen check-in desks.

A queue which alternately did not move and then suddenly moved 3-5 metres.

A feeling of impending doom was starting to descend over me.

Especially when announcements apologising started being broadcast on the tannoys.

What is it about the UK? Provide an inadequate service and then apologise rather than do it properly in the first place!

When, eventually, I got to the entrance to Security the problem became apparent.

Out of ten lines of seven positions only TWO lines were open…

I overheard someone say that the Airport had made four hundred staff redundant on the Saturday. Might that have had something to do with the queues?

I couldn’t possibly comment 😂

It was at this point I texted Lorraine and Penelope saying it was looking increasingly unlikely I was going to get on my flight.

And, of course, my bag got selected for closer scrutiny.

I’ll give the staff their dues. I gesticulated at someone and said my Gate check-in time was fast approaching and I was dealt with quickly and told where the gate I was going to was.

Because of all this I’d not had time to do any money changing so I diverted briefly to see about swapping currencies.

Or not. Mid-market GBP:EUR was around 1.07 but the rate on offer was a staggering 0.83 something.

I believe my expression was you’ve got to be joking.

Rushed down to the gate and joined a very long queue.

Bear in mind I’d paid for speedy boarding. But I don’t do this often enough to know which parts are supposed to be speedy and which are not.

But as I got closer to the gate I could just about read a sign saying Speedy Boarding which had been hidden from view by the queue.

So at least I got to jump that bit. Sigh.

Then I attempted to seriously damage myself.

EasyJet (not in the spellchecker. What a surprise!) are too tight to use the airbridges to connect terminal and plane and make you walk down a staircase, out the door and up some more steps to get on your plane.

Or not.

Idiot here got distracted and overlooked the last step completely.

One moment I’m walking down the stairs, the next I’m in a crumpled heap at the bottom.

But a lot of sweet people are checking I’m alright.

Well, not altogether. My knees still ache even now and I ripped holes in both legs of my jeans (after Lorraine had only sewn up another rip the day before) but the biggest damage?

My pride. You do feel like a complete pillock!

So up the stairs to the plane, find my seat and wonder if anything else is going to go wrong.

As take off approached a little sense of panic started.

But  as we left the ground a slight feeling of relief.

The flight itself was a bit of an anticlimax to be honest.

And we reached Gibraltar Airport about 20 minutes early.

I texted Die Tochter landside at a time I was still supposed to be in the air.

Stayed with her and BF and BF’s mother offered to run us up to Estepona next day to collect the keys.

I am so far out of my comfort zone I’m surprised I’m om the same planet.

WHY was I worrying myself that we’d get here only to find no bloke and no keys?

Because I do. And maybe it would take another forty years to get over…

Well I got here.

And it’s Thursday and I’m still here.

Can’t say fairer than that.

The SEO tool is telling me I’ve started three consecutive sentences with the same word.

Well I’m buggered if I can find them. And I’ve read through it three times (okay, found it in final read through).

My eyes are starting (continuing) to flag so I’m going to finish here.

Just shy of 1,000 words. That’s enough for today.

The daughter stayed with me from Monday until today.

But she’s gone and my day consisted of a number of Zoom meetings, lots of emails and this blog.

We’ve been out for dinner all week while she was here so it’s just me and the microwave for a change tonight.

Will probably go for a wander and a drink later. Who knows?

If not I’ve stocked the fridge up here.

Just wish I could stop yawning… well I got here.

Sunrise or sunset? How do you tell? Image by Manolo Franco from Pixabay