Planes, Trains, Chefs and Politicians.
It's funny how your brain solves problems for you when you're asleep. I woke up at five o'clock this morning and immediately realised it was a bad idea to drive to Inverness airport. Why? Because I'll be returning to Inverness on Thursday by train from Edinburgh and would then have had to hike out to the airport to collect my car. My brain worked that out during the night and sent me a sort of cerebral text message as soon as I opened my eyes.
I got a taxi to the airport, plane to Gatwick, transit thingy to the train station, Gatwick Express to Victoria, tube to Notting Hill Gate and then another to White City. I arrived at half past ten - or actually a few minutes late. It would all have gone like clockwork had there not been delays on the tube because of a "passenger incident". This, I'm led to believe, is a euphemism for someone throwing themselves on the line. It puts things into perspective.
I was at the Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú Media Centre in London for my regular meeting with my colleagues from England, Wales and Northern Ireland. I tend to treat these meetings as a group therapy session. I share my problems and frustrations and everyone chips in with possible solutions. Of course when they try the same thing on me I fire up my laptop and have a quick game of solitaire. No, only joking. I really do care about others.
The meeting ended at three o'clock and my counterpart in Belfast, , kindly suggested I could share the cab she and her colleagues had booked to take them to Paddington station. Then she realised there wasn't enough room in the car. I believe this was a reference to my weight so I sulked off to the tube station, changed at Notting Hill Gate, caught the Heathrow Express in time to make the half past five flight to Glasgow.
There was the usual queue at the airport security desk as we all took off our jackets and shoes . A young Asian girl was being led back through the metal detector because she'd been caught in possesion of a bottle of hand lotion. Then, as I turned round, I caught sight of celebrity chef with his trademark beard and lumberjack's shirt. I was pleased to see there was no favouritsim shown to celebrities and that he, too, was having his shoes zapped by x-rays. Suede shoes, I might add.
Finally got to Glasgow airport about half past seven tonight and just because I didn't want this magical journey to end, I boarded the shuttle bus into Glasgow city centre and then caught the tube at Queen Street. And there, just at the turnstiles was wearing a very nice suit and deep in conversation with a friend.
I was going to hide round the corner and tape what he was saying, but then I got another text message from my brain telling me he might not see the funny side.
