I was from my hotel bed untimely ripped this morning, as I had to head to the airport first thing in order to get back in time for my all important work on the Andrew Collings show. I had not had too much to drink last night, but had got to bed quite late and then been nervous about missing my alarm call so I didn't sleep too well and it was all a bit of an effort.
But all went well, I got to the airport in good time, a good hour before the 10.55 take off, checked in on the little machine (which allows you to choose your own seat - how cool is that?) and then went to drop off my bags, confident that I had done the right thing in choosing plane over train.
"You know the flight is delayed this morning due to fog over London, don't you?" said the woman at the desk. How I was meant to know this I wasn't sure. And I didn't know it.
"How long for?"
"It might not be able to leave til 1.30, but we'd like you to go to the gate straight away in case an opening develops."
Oh no. My plans were falling into the dust and I had got out of bed early for nothing.
But luck seemed to be going with me as boarding started at about 11.30. I should be able to make it in London in time to get home and pick up my BBC pass before my weekly cab came to pick me up.
There were a few hold ups before we took off and I was a bit worried that the captain had made no announcement about changing the wheels. What if the wheel was faulty? You can't be too careful with these things.
But then we were off and there was no hold up outside of crew and we touched down at about 12.45. Things were looking good. Then we sat on the runway for fifteen minutes. Still nothing to worry about. I got to the baggage carousels which was surrounded by adverts for something or other saying "I like it when my bag comes out first."
I would have liked that too. But I waited ten minutes and no bags had come out at all. I realised I'd probably have to get a cab from the airport direct to the studios, but that was no problem. I'd still be in time.
Another twenty minutes passed and no bags from our flight had yet appeared. Time was ticking away. Would I be able to get to the BBC before 2.30, thus giving me time to have a look at the papers before talking about them at 3. I'd been trying to contact the producer but with no luck. All I could do was look at a woman with a Robin Hood style hat with a massive feather in it. It was very classy. I'd like to see more people wear hats like that.
Then finally the bags started arriving. Everything would be fine. Even though I had started my journey at 9.30 and it was now four hours later I think I was still in a position to feel that plane was the right choice. Or would I have to conceed to the possible truth that getting out of London is easy on any transport, but getting back must take at least twice as long.
My bag was not first. Nor was it in the first twenty bags on the carousel. Just when I needed a break.
Then I noticed that the bags seemed to have stopped appearing and a look at the chute showed there was a back-log of bags that had got stuck and were no longer moving on to the main carousel. They were tantalisingly just out of reach and it would have been very annoying if my bag was at the front, but it wasn't. Everyone waited patiently, but for ten minutes nothing happened and only then did people question whether this was what should be happening. I had had a call from the producer and explained that things were looking bad and she said I could always go on half an hour later than usual. Which bought me some time. But even so I was tempted to try and clamber over the still moving carousel and start releasing the bags from the chute and throwing them down, like a modern day Robin Hood. In fact if the lady with the hat joined in we could be beating the system like a two modern day Robin Hoods. Which is something I have always wanted to be. And yet I have always lacked the other person to be the other modern day Robin Hood.
But ultimately I was worried that I might fall over on the working carousel and end up looking like a character in a sit-com that has run out of ideas. And that I might get into trouble.
A man on the tannoy promised us that an engineer would arrive soon to save us, but noone was coming and I was getting more and more impatient and more and more likely to risk life and limb to rescue the cases.
Luckily then some bags started coming through on an adjacent trolley and mine came out third. Ha ha. Bad luck losers with their bags trapped on the chute. If mine had been there I am pretty sure that the listeners of 6Music would have had to go without my observations on the Sunday papers. They would never have heard my theory that the queen has a series of servants or are all hired to lick different kinds of animal faeces off her boots. The world would have been a worse and less happy place.
I realised that as I left the airport I had spent more time waiting for my bag than I had in the air. It seems I am cursed to not get home from Scotland very easily.
The cab journey took another hour and I was at the BBC at ten to three. Almost five and a half hours. The train would have been quicker.
Ah well.
