All the fun is in getting there – or is it?

I have always been a nervous flyer –  bouncing through an electrical storm in a small propeller plane and an unscheduled take-off immediately after landing in Toronto airport because the aircraft in front hadn’t cleared the runway may bear some responsibility. But a few weeks ago, for the first time ever, I was actually relieved to be strapping myself into my easy Jet seat and bracing myself for the charge down the tarmac.

We were flying from London Gatwick to Belfast International Airport and although air travel is never a straightforward affair for me,  we could not have predicted how one short journey across the Irish sea could become such a feat of endurance and forbearance .

It is amazing how the stress of just getting to the airport, added to the trauma of going through security – and then jumping through more hoops, courtesy of the airline, prior to boarding – can negate the stress of actually being airborne.  Turns out,what should have been a straightforward journey back to Belfast  turned into something of an escapade for myself and two teenage daughters returning from the capital following a post-exam treat to see a West End show – and some obligatory shopping of course.

First, the Gatwick Express was held up due to a security alert, then once we were given the ‘all-clear’ to board the train (a competition and the winner gets a seat!) , it seemed to travel at a snail’s pace to the airport terminal. Someone was definitely having a laugh – Express? Ha! Anyway, once we set foot on the platform it was a speedy run up escalators, down crowded corridors and some necessary pushing and shoving through the hoards to get to security.  (Because we had only hand luggage – thankfully on wheels – we were already checked in with boarding cards to boot,  after booking online  – a great new scheme from easy Jet, to be fair ).

Then the fun really started.  Seems I had forgotten to retrieve a few mere lip glosses – and maybe an  ipod and a tiny perfume bottle or two -  from the dark recesses of my shoulder bag.  The bleeper  dutifully went off and it was pandemonium as the suspect item was  suddenly surrounded by a posse of FBI-type lookalikes, all prodding and poking and glowering ominously.   While the contents were unceremoniously tipped out and inspected, more time was wasted – but, as it turned out we need not have worried.  When we eventually made it through security, the electronic display board told us to ‘relax’  (relax? Who are they kidding?) and ‘shop’.  Our gate number had not yet been  posted on the display board, so there was nowhere – for the moment at least – to run to.

At this stage we became aware of a strangely large number of fellow travellers all crowded around same display board, no-one moving a muscle or taking their eyes off the screen until their gate number came up. Then, once a gate number appeared against a particular flight, men in suits, brief cases swaggering  dangerously,  women with buggies at the ready, even elderly pensioners,  all made off in huge gallops, disappearing at break-neck speed down corridors  leading to their gates. Why the rush?  Surely the nice airline allows sufficient time for passengers to stroll to their respective gates before they post ‘flight closing’?  Wrong. They don’t – hence all the sprinting, limbs flailing all over the place, frayed tempers and  silent, sullen faces. My youngest daughter saw everyone else running, so she started to run too and disappeared into the dust cloud in front of us.  If it hadn’t been so stressful, it would have been hilarious.

The airline had the last laugh though. You have to hand it to them ; panicking people into thinking their flight is closing prematurely is a darn good way to make sure no-one dawdles  down to the gate late and holds  up the plane.  Once the majority of passengers was hoarded into the ‘holding’ area before making the final steps to the aircraft, there was plenty of time of course for the odd straggler to show up at the desk.

Strapped in, eyes closed, breathing deeply – in, out, in, out.  We are on our way home, at last. I swear I will never do this again. Well, not until next month at least when my husband and I head to Rome for a few days. Now, where are those refreshments?…  WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOLD OUT ??