Friday, 15 April 2016

Tuesday, April 12/2016

Packing done, but there seem to be odd piles of things that belong nowhere. Little piles - a half lemon, three plastic bags, some lids. Nothing important but causes of micro decision making. Boxes - embarrassingly rhere are now 7 of them - down to storage in the mezzanine. Actually 7 plus the rack for drying clothes. Three oranges that don't fit anywhere in the luggage, which is sad as we know it will be six months before we taste any half as sweet. Suitcases stuffed and down to turn in the key in reception. Drama begins. Are we really leaving? One moment - Chris (next door at the travel agency) will want to say goodbye. (He never has done before). And the young man on reception - whose name we never did learn - has to pick up the gift for us, from the whole staff! Chris is busy: can we wait? No, sadly we have a bus to catch. Young man returns with bottle of wine, clearly hastily purchased round the corner, to which Lefka hastily attaches  sentimental note. We express extreme gratitude - but we have no room at all for an extra bottle. But perhaps Chris ( who is still busy next door) could arrange for them to seal it at the airport so we could take it as hand luggage? Seems unlikely, but, worse, we really can't carry more weight. And it has to be carried further at the London end than the Larnaca end. Don't explain all this. J just says, very that, grateful though we are, it is impossible. Can they keep it for our return in November? We will be happy to see it then. And so, with hugs and kisses, drama ends - and we catch the bus with about thirty seconds to spare.

 Plane extremely full. Our usual trick of booking aisle and window of a threesome at the back of the plane fails, so as fallback I trade and sit in the middle when the plane fills up. Decent meal and quite drinkable wine. Window Seat Passenger next to us leaves to visit the loo - and doesn't return. Have, naturally, not timed his visit, but he is gone so long that eventually we cease thinking that it would be wise not to follow him too closely into the same loo and begin wondering first whether he is all right and then whether he might have died. Have visions of being delayed endlessly at Heathrow as airline staff and police question us about his final moments in the window seat. How long has it been - half an hour? At least. Presume that the now endless queue for the toilets must all be using one facility, the other being permanently occupied. Then J joins the queue and notes that  WSP is happily drinking water in the galley. No disaster. 

Back to Bayswater, and favourite of our rooms. Little things matter - radiator rather than portable heater means it's possible to dry a pair of socks. Definite asset. Genie greets us as usual, but since our last visit she has broken arm (shoulder, elbow?) in three places. Will undoubtedly never be the same again, and she's much younger than we are. The fragility of life.