Up at 3:20 a.m., thanks to having been switched by Thomas Cook to the EasyJet flight. Actually probably not two hours sleep, as I wake in the night to the sounds of "there is a town in north Ontario." No, not still dreaming. BBC World TV is showing a presentation on oxycontin use on northern reserves, particularly in Fort Hope. As I watch, Sioux Lookout hospital appears, with Dr Dooley commenting on newborn babies in withdrawal. Quite amazing to find this playing in the middle of the night in Gatwick.
Taxi to Gatwick at 4:00. It's only a ten minute drive to the airport, but we want to be early in case there's any difficulty over the switch from Thomas Cook to EasyJet or the seat reservations. there isn't so we're early. Easyjet only allows one piece of carry-on luggage each, so my handbag has to go inside y fairly small carry-on while the leather bag with the netbook and Kobo (just big enough to hold the two) goes in J's carry-on. The readjustment involves my threading my woollen cardigan inside my winter jacket. Obviously all the other passengers have made similar arrangements - filled their pockets and worn their hats. Once in the plane the decompression is like the fat lady taking off her girdle as the overhead compartments overflow and the narrow seats are overfilled.
J and I have booked aisle seats opposite each other as we tend to do when the seats are in banks of three, and we've brought a lunch - bread and humus, cheese, and raw veggies. The seats beside me are occupied by a small family - teenage boy, mother and not-quite-two-year-old. They make a creditable but not very effective effort at stowing their bits and pieces (they've brought a pillow and small blankets as well as the more obvious items). It's a good flight, though. Both kids sleep for muchof it and there are no spills - all one could ask for really. Land in sunshine and warmth. There's a Canadian Hercules on the tarmac, interestingly. Canadian forces based in Afghanistan come here for R&R.
Transfer to the Paphiessa. We've got a one bedroom apartment with a bit of charm - if a distinct shortage of sitting room outlets and lighting. Up the outside staircase with bouganvillea blossoms brushing off on my hair. It's a lovely little place. The front landing overlooks the swimming pool and there's a balcony accessible from the bedroom but running in front of the sitting room windows with comfortable seating and a sunny south prospect. Not much closet space but a nice little living-dining room and a kitchen with microwave and toaster as well as the standard two burners.
Not too much exploration time, though, as we're off to the sports pub for the final F1 race of the season. It's a race that sees Lewis Hamilton with pole position for his final race with McLaren. The excitement, though, stems from the fact that Red Bull's Vettel has a 13 point lead over Ferrari's Alonso, meaning either could win the world championship. Odds are obviously with Vettel, but this changes almost immediately the race begins, when his car is hit and damaged. He fights his way back, though, in a rainy race that couldn't have been closer, decided only in the final lap of the season, as Vettel's sixth place finish makes him the youngest ever three time world champion.
As Pepys would say, and so to bed.
Taxi to Gatwick at 4:00. It's only a ten minute drive to the airport, but we want to be early in case there's any difficulty over the switch from Thomas Cook to EasyJet or the seat reservations. there isn't so we're early. Easyjet only allows one piece of carry-on luggage each, so my handbag has to go inside y fairly small carry-on while the leather bag with the netbook and Kobo (just big enough to hold the two) goes in J's carry-on. The readjustment involves my threading my woollen cardigan inside my winter jacket. Obviously all the other passengers have made similar arrangements - filled their pockets and worn their hats. Once in the plane the decompression is like the fat lady taking off her girdle as the overhead compartments overflow and the narrow seats are overfilled.
J and I have booked aisle seats opposite each other as we tend to do when the seats are in banks of three, and we've brought a lunch - bread and humus, cheese, and raw veggies. The seats beside me are occupied by a small family - teenage boy, mother and not-quite-two-year-old. They make a creditable but not very effective effort at stowing their bits and pieces (they've brought a pillow and small blankets as well as the more obvious items). It's a good flight, though. Both kids sleep for muchof it and there are no spills - all one could ask for really. Land in sunshine and warmth. There's a Canadian Hercules on the tarmac, interestingly. Canadian forces based in Afghanistan come here for R&R.
Transfer to the Paphiessa. We've got a one bedroom apartment with a bit of charm - if a distinct shortage of sitting room outlets and lighting. Up the outside staircase with bouganvillea blossoms brushing off on my hair. It's a lovely little place. The front landing overlooks the swimming pool and there's a balcony accessible from the bedroom but running in front of the sitting room windows with comfortable seating and a sunny south prospect. Not much closet space but a nice little living-dining room and a kitchen with microwave and toaster as well as the standard two burners.
Not too much exploration time, though, as we're off to the sports pub for the final F1 race of the season. It's a race that sees Lewis Hamilton with pole position for his final race with McLaren. The excitement, though, stems from the fact that Red Bull's Vettel has a 13 point lead over Ferrari's Alonso, meaning either could win the world championship. Odds are obviously with Vettel, but this changes almost immediately the race begins, when his car is hit and damaged. He fights his way back, though, in a rainy race that couldn't have been closer, decided only in the final lap of the season, as Vettel's sixth place finish makes him the youngest ever three time world champion.
As Pepys would say, and so to bed.
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