The time we made up in flight is thoroughly lost in the immigration queue at Heathrow. Fifty-five minutes of snaking through the arrival hall. The only question we're asked is how long we're staying, already answered on the entry form. Surely anyone entering with dishonourable intent would at least have memorised their lines? Maybe the questions don't matter and it's all a matter of judging body language and tone. And maybe that gives them entirely too much credit. Collect the suitcases, long abandoned beside the carousel and head for the tube.
We have an appointment at 4:40 at the Covent Garden Apple Store re ipad mini #2. Bought as replacement-in-waiting for an aging predecessor, it suddenly refused to open or show any other signs of life about two weeks ago. Other, that is, than on the overnight train, when it apparently struggled to life and was discovered in the morning feverishly hot and down to 3% battery. It twitched to life, agreed to being charged, reached about 70% charge and expired. I have memorised the clinical history, can supply dates and symptoms, have screen shots of serial number and receipt, am prepared. It's only five months old! Not needed. If it won't start, we'll give you another. Here you go - attached to the computer and downloading from the cloud. Single signature. Fini. Not quite the end. As well as the new tablet they also kindly do the software upgrades on our other mini. The ones it had no space to do without a computer's assistance. Jetlag forgotten.
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