Tuesday 8 November 2011

Home at last

I awoke. The numbers on my mobile phone indicated that it was a little before 5AM. The alarm was set for 5:15AM, I could doze for another fifteen minutes, but, and it was a big but, I really needed a shit. Although I am a little cavalier with hotel linen I draw the line at soiling the sheets, particularly as I was wearing my last pair of clean boxer shorts. I drag myself from the comfort of a strange bed and squeeze my ample frame into the bathroom and notice for the first time that there is no shower. I muse on this as I evacuate last nights sausage and mash, the idea must be to maintain a number of 'one night only, single rooms' with only the basic amenities, such as this. Keeps the overheads down and the cost to the punter (incidentally what's the term for the cross between a customer and a punter? A *unter, never mind) low. By now I have the early morning drill pretty well sorted, ablutions then pack then dress then check out. I was approaching the security desk within ten minutes of donning my trousers.

In contrast to my visit to the same hall a few days ago almost every security check-point was operating and I navigated through to flight side swiftly and without getting completely undressed. Without time for a real breakfast I bought the best alternative, a bottle of water and a rice krispies caramel square, the food of legends! Boarding was called, I boarded and fell asleep. The rest of the flight was a series of momentary waking glimpses of a fluffy cloud base far below obscuring the land further below. I shrugged and dozed off again. A pair of suited business types sitting directly behind me chatted incessantly about sailing and associated watery activities and for some reason instigated brief dreams involving a cockney snake with a hat and arms who sang like Michael Buble. I was grateful when the captain announced our imminent landing and pretended not to notice the dried drool on the side of my face and stared out of the window as Winchester and Eastleigh flashed beneath as we rapidly approached.

The landing was better than the one at Glasgow the previous evening but I didn't care. The baggage took some time to arrive, I had to get to work so I looked at my watch frequently, it didn't make any difference. Finally, with my red backpack slipping off my shoulder I exited the baggage hall and, thankfully, my dad was waiting. My Shetland adventure was over and it was time to slip back into the routine of boring, tedious, day-to-day, hum-drum, work type stuff. Roll on Up-Helly-Aa in January.

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