The morning after the day before ...

After an epic drive over the Rest and Be Thankful, by the stoical taxi driver who was waiting for me when I finally left Glasgow Airport not long before midnight and who eluded a badger and two deer on the road, I arrived home at 1.30am, made some scrambled egg with parmesan to offset the sense that I'd eaten nothing but carbs all day, and was in bed by 3am. 

I woke at 9am, and was downstairs by 10. I don't know where the remains of the morning went - coffee in the cloudy but mild outdoors, sending mail attachments to people who had asked me for them yesterday, having lunch. I had a hair appointment in Greenock at 4pm, and the astute reader will have noted that I'd not gone for the weekly shop yet; this was dealt with by a quick dash round a Tesco near the hairdresser's (amazing wee woman in the queue ahead of me who turned out to be 90, as straight as could be, great short, white hair, great sense of humour, still in possession - as she informed me, of all her marbles - she fairly cheered me up). Then the relaxation of having my hair washed and so on, so that I felt better and then ...

Then an email popped into my phone. An email about our forthcoming-in-less-than-a-fortnight holiday. A holiday for which I'd made all the laborious arrangements of flights to Gatwick, overnight stay in hotel because the flight to Italy was to be very early in the morning, flight home on same day as we flew back to Gatwick because it'd be there at lunchtime ... all that. What did it say? That BA had changed their flight schedules and our flight to Italy would now be in the late evening and come home even later, that we shouldn't worry because the missed meals would work out, and that though they (Saga) were sorry for any inconvenience they hoped we'd have a lovely holiday. 

Saga, you recall, is associated with holidays for older people - no? Well this older person is not going to bother. So tomorrow, Best Beloved, I hope to cancel the whole shebang. This isn't a holiday - it's a stress factory. It's not worth it. They take no account of people from my part of the world. I'm not going via an English airport again. And as for BA ... They can join LoganAir at the bottom of a growing pile. 

To encourage sweet thoughts till I can get this sorted, a photo of my wisteria, just outside my back door. It's in full, lusciously-scented glory at the moment.