May 22nd 2018

Today my flight to Berlin was delayed by three hours. We got to the airport at 14:30, the plane was due to depart at 16:55 (so we were already there far too early), and we didn’t end up leaving the tarmac until gone eight o’clock.

To begin with the departures board told us it would be an hour wait…


And then it said it would be a two hour wait…


And then it said it would be a three hour wait and, to be honest, I was beginning to become distrustful of the departures board, so I got on the vodka.


Eventually, and miraculously, the departures board remained consistent with it’s estimated time of departure, and invited us to rush to gate eleven.

At gate eleven we were told that the airport was just being cleaned and we were invited to sit down and wait for another twenty minutes. Unfortunately, there was minimal access to vodka at the actual gate.

For a short while, sat at the Wetherspoon’s in the terminal, I wondered whether our flight would be cancelled, as others above and below our flight were. Others began to grow impatient, naturally, but I remained pretty calm.

I know that in that situation there is nothing I can to do speed up the rate at which I can board a plane that hadn’t yet even entered British airspace. So I was calm. Or maybe it was the beer.

We did make it to Berlin in the end though, and to the hotel as well. Just three hours past our expected time. Apparently the delay was due to a strike by French air traffic control.

Until tomorrow, merci very much for that, lads.


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