Grounded

I was hoping I might be blipping a moody shot of the back alleys of Glasgow Airport tonight, or maybe a jolly shot of me and bestie having a G&T in the Holiday Inn ... but no. Instead you have a truly last-minute emergency shot of ... my feet, and my telly, and my sitting room. 

Why so? Here's a wee tale. After a day of varying wobbles brought on by ever-closer cases of Covid, my pal and her man had come round for us in their car, we'd loaded my suddenly excessively heavy case into the boot, and the four of us arrived at the Western Ferries with perfect timing as a boat came in. The promised gales had come to little, and we were off. 

We were sitting on the car deck, somewhere in the middle, near the bow, when the text arrived: our flight tomorrow morning had been put off until Tuesday because of an adverse weather warning. (And because we knew what the runway in Madeira is like, we felt this keenly). Time to turn round and go home ("Please don't turn up at the airport in the morning") - except that the ferry was loading the last cars behind us and the man had just approached the window for our tickets. We told him our plight, with no real hope that he could do anything for us - but he was horrified. He would get us off, he could move some cars... and he did. We reversed off carefully and drove away, still on the Dunoon side, with cheery waves and expressions of gratitude. And when I got back in and rang to cancel our overnight hotel at the airport, I was passed over to a nice man who said that in the sad circumstances of my cancellation I'd not have my payment taken. 

So here I am. Still here until Tuesday - because the rescheduled flight isn't till midday and we won't need an overnight stay, which is good. It feels like floating in limbo - normal life cancelled, and nothing to replace it. I'm pretty fed up. But I need to give a big shout-out to the Western Ferries crew and the nice man at the Holiday Inn, for making it all a bit more bearable. 

And that suitcase is still in the hall ...