For the second time this week I’m on the way down to London.
This time for a Managing Volunteers training day planned for the Greenbelt offices tomorrow.
A combination of exorbitant Friday morning fares and lack of workable Thursday night train options, mean that against my usual eco-conscience, this time I’m taking the plane and staying over at Mum and Dad’s.
It should be a hassle free quick journey.
Unfortunately the flight is delayed.
Even more alarmingly, as we start to taxi to the runway a good hour behind schedule, the pilot announces that they’ve got the delay (which has been building all day) down to 30 minutes.
Do I feel comfortable being flown by someone who can’t read the dial on a clock, let alone all those other fancy dials that I’m fairly sure are important in some way or other.
Would I like a complimentary vodka? Export strength? Marvellous. I may as well die happy…
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