Check out at eleven, so we're pretty well packed by morning, and a better job than usual of having the end of the food coincide with the end of the stay. Final two eggs with toast for breakfast. Bus to the airport and then a longish wait as the flight isn't until 16:50, A man with a car at the bus stop offers us a ride to the airport for €10 (roughly $15 CAD, £8), but there's not much point as the bus takes over an hour and we might as well kill the time. Chat with a retired couple who used to live in Sackville, New Brunswick, but now live near Newcastle.
We've done our occasional trick of booking the aisle and window seats in a bank of three. If we're lucky no one opts for the middle. If they do sit there sometimes I offer to trade for my window seat, as this time. So full it's astonishing that everyone gets a seat. Mild panic as we go to put the carry-ons in the overhead and I realise that I've left my jacket in the departure lounge. It's a small airport - say about the size of Regina's - and we weren't bused - just walked across the tarmac. The departure lounge is ground level with the door in plain sight from the plane. They won't let me go back, but are quite lovely about it. A man in high visibility jacket radios back and, just as they're starting the pre-flight patter another man comes down the aisle with it. Jokingly, I offer to kiss him and he is gallant: later, madame, when your husband is not around.
Flight is a little over three hours, which moves it from the sandwich to the hot meal category. Though not to the wine category. Odd encounter at Heathrow immigration. We get a young and friendly female officer, who asks a few of the normal range of questions - then wants to know how much sterling we have. I have no idea, as we have cards. But an estimate? My guess is £200 (haven't yet made the compartment switch with the euros as the oyster - transit - cards will get us in to central London). Will that be enough? No, of course not: we have cards. Was the hotel prepaid? No, they know us. She lets it go, but the odd thing is that neither we, nor I would assume our friends, normally land in a country with as much as £200 in local currency, nor have done since the advent of cash points. Additionally, we do have a UK bank account, but mentioning that could raise questions of whether we ever intend to leave, not that the UK account would run to financing permanent residence. Have we, flatteringly, been mistaken for young backpackers? Has she, perhaps seen the weather reports for northern Ontario and concluded that no sane person would go back for several months?
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