Phew!

After 3 weeks away and some Mercury Madness, I am home to Jet and my little four-legged furry angels. My last week in the UK was supposed to be precise, carefully planned and timed with very small margins left for any mishaps. Wrong!

Right before I left Cambridge, Spencer and I had a conversation about travel insurance. He asked me the question of whether I had any, when we checked the BBC website and found that snow was forecast for duration of my visit. When I said "no", his eyebrows shot up and in a very fatherly tone, he recommended I look into it for the rest of this trip and any future trips I do - especially during winter. But I was feeling lucky. Ha!

As the eleventh hour approached, I dragged my overweight bags downstairs and sat up in my temporary bedroom, checking online for an up-to-the-minute weather forecast for Cambridge, London, Stansted Airport and Luxembourg. I was waiting for the National Rail page to open when I happened to look out the window to see tiny little snow flakes, falling from the sky. English trains don't like snow. Shit.

So in a flurry of snow, goodbyes, laughter and Spencer's shock at how heavy my bag was, Miche waved us off from the front door and Spencer and I set off in the camper, bound for the train station. By hook or by crook, I was getting to London. My plan? To drop my bags with my friend Cat, chill for a minute, then set out together to Stansted for our reunion with Kylie in Luxembourg. Our plane was supposed to land at 11pm which meant that we would be home at her place by 12.30am. Hmmm...

Spencer waved a frantic goodbye to me at the platform and directed me to platform 3 to catch the London bound express train at 12.28pm. Because of the snow, the train was not, in fact, an express train and deposited me in London at 2pm, where I picked up a Steak & Ale Cornish Pasty and a bottle of Pirate Water to quiet my noisy stomach. I hauled my bags into a cab whose driver took me the long way to Cat's place, and then accepted my tenner and drove away without giving me change! Cheeky git.

As I enjoyed my pasty, Cat and I checked the Stansted Airport website, the Ryanair website and the weather reports and decided that the only thing to do was to go to the airport early as everything seemed to be scheduled as normal. So we left with plenty of time to spare, chatting all the way, dropped my check in luggage at the desk and ventured through security. We found a restaurant to sit down and eat an airport dinner, then took turns checking the departures board. "Delayed - estimated 23:30". It was only 8pm. Ugh.

No-one would tell us anything and other passengers were getting irate. We had become the last scheduled flight out and not only did the restaurant kick us out, but all the shops were closed! Cat and I decided that if Ryanair cancelled the flight, we would just stay in London and I would try and bring my Las Vegas flight forward. But Ryanair wouldn't cancel because they are cheap bastards. We were sure that the flight would leave too late and break some kind of night flight regulation. Nope, we boarded at 11.15pm. This also meant that Kylie had to leave home at the same time we boarded to make it to Frankfurt Hahn airport for our arrival, and it also meant that because we arrived at 1.30am, we wouldn't be home until after 3.00am. While it was ok for me, the girls (and the kids) had to be out of the house by 7.45am which meant that they barely got 4 hours of sleep. Eeeek!

Cat, Kylie and I had a great (if a little tired) couple of days. Kylie's little boy has given us our very own vacation catchphrase "No Mummy"! We left early on Saturday morning and headed in snow to the airport. And even though I hate getting up early, it was still a fun adventure. Until we were almost at the airport, and food poisoning kicked in. Yuk.

I don't remember the last time I felt that horrific. I probably saw more lavatories in Frankfurt Hahn airport than anything else. I was so sick I couldn't even make conversation with Cat and would move constantly back and forth between our seat at the departure lounge and the bathroom. Our plane was delayed and I was hoping and wishing that the worst would be over by the time we had to board. But no. The worst was actually while I was on the plane. I could only feel extremely apologetic for the guy sitting next to me as I wretched into a sick bag during take off. And while I have a cross to bear with Ryanair and their management, they cabin crew were extremely nice to me while I was sick, and even assisted me off the plane.

Poor Cat thought she would have to either call an ambulance or take me to hospital. I thought maybe we could catch a taxi to London, but after finding out it would be well over £100 I miraculously felt well enough to catch the bus. A decision that turned out to be fine as the gentle motion of the bus sent me off to sleep.

So to cut an extremely long (and arduous) story short, the dinner that we had been planning for months at St John was attended by only Cat and Panu and I stayed home, too sick to even drink tea. And I wasn't even well enough to eat the next night either! But by the end of the following day, which was also my final day in London, I was ravenous so we went to Chinatown for soy chicken, duck and steamed gai-lan. It was awesome and the three of us inhaled that dinner in 15 minutes flat, only speaking pre and post poultry. A very worthy last meal.