Stranded in Jockland

The pilot, it may have been Sean Lock (it certainly sounded like him), announced that there was no way we were going to get into Edinburgh due to heavy fog (does that mean fog from beer?) and that we were going to divert to either Glasgow or failing that Aberdeen. There were a few anxious faces and unhappy mutterings, I was about to join in when I suddenly realised I didn't really care. Only a couple of years ago I would have worried immediately and felt very stressed and insecure. Now, well, life's too short to worry about shit that is beyond your control. When we finally landed I joined the milling throng by the hard pressed customer services desk and put my case forward. As a transfer was not inline with the demands of the remainder of the growing mob he was initially confused, but when I explained in simple terms that I was Glasgow and not Edinburgh and no I didn't want to go to Edinburgh but instead would really like to go to my intended final destination, Southampton thank you very much. A flicker of understanding crossed his face and then was gone.

'So you want to go to Southampton from Edinburgh?' He asked hesitatingly.

'No.' I started slowly. 'I have missed my flight there. Can you pay for a hotel for me here please?'

'In Edinburgh?'

'No, here. In Glasgow. I would rather not fly from here now rather than not fly from Edinburgh in three hours' (That bit will change and hopefully get funnier but I did say something like that)

He nodded vigourously. I smiled and relaxed.

'I don't know.' He finished.

I kept smiling. This was great. Wait 'til the book comes out.

'Can you find out?' I asked hopefully.

He held up a finger and disappeared behind the partition bearing the Flybe logo. I waited for a few minutes, I even turned and rolled my eyes in exasperation at the couple who were waiting in line behind me. They nodded grimly in solidarity. The young customer service facilitation engineer reappeared. I made eye contact, he looked away.

'Any joy?' I asked, already knowing the answer.

'No?' He responded simply.

No joy or no chance of getting a room I thought but instead I remained silent and allowed him to speak.

'You can get one, pay for it yourself and claim it back.' He offered almost apologetically.

'Good enough. How about a flight tomorrow?'

This proved to be no problem at al land I was duly, efficiently and satisfactorily booked on to the 0645 hours AM flight tomorrow morning.

The Holiday Inn was directly opposite the departures terminal and a room was quickly secured and within minutes I found myself down the bar with a pair of pints of cider. I need to be up at 5AM but that's OK at least I'll get back at a reasonable time tomorrow.