So, this weekend has been a disaster.
I had requested annual leave from work on Friday (and had to do battle with a few other folks!) so I could attend a Young Adult book event in Worthing. In case you don’t know, that’s the very bottom of England and far, far away from where I live in Scotland.
So, I got to Glasgow airport where I was flying to Gatwick, then getting a train to Worthing. Or so I thought…
The plane was delayed, delayed then finally cancelled. When they handed out coffee vouchers, there were 200 passengers and one guy working on the coffee cart…
There were no other seats on flights between Glasgow and any of the other London airports, causing distress for lots of people who were connecting. I had to battle for an 85 yr old lady who’d checked in her two cases, was flying to the US from Gatwick at 5 the next morning, and was offered a seat from Edinburgh airport to London City arriving at 1030 at night. Collecting her cases, finding a way to Edinburgh airport, then getting herself between London City and Gatwick, alone, at that time of night seemed unreasonable to me.
Once there was a written guarantee of taxis for her with assistance, I felt as if I could go home, but got messages from the kids who’d wanted to meet me and get me to sign their books that night. I felt terrible.
By the time I got home I might have felt a bit crappy. But then I found this….
I’ve honestly never laughed and cringed so much. The Northall restaurant in London is the place that the Mills and Boon editors have taken me twice, when I’ve been a finalist for the RNA Rona Rose awards. Some of my other writer colleagues were with me at the time.
What does this mean???
It means they just took me on the wrong day!