...and this was supposed to be a relaxing weekend.
My wife and I, plus two other couples, set off for Nottingham on Saturday for a pleasant night at the theatre, a nice meal and a glass or two of the local ale. I got up at 5.30 in the morning, in time for the taxi which was taking us all to Edinburgh airport an hour later. Our flight was at 9.30. Except, of course, it wasn't. It was three hours late. Finally got to our hotel in the early afternoon and arranged to meet in the lobby at five. There I was entertained by a young woman who somehow managed to get her arm stuck in the revolving door. Two fire engines, a police car and a posse of medics later, we left the hotel for a couple of drinks before the show began. Already, the city centre was heaving with hen parties in various states of undress and the temperature was in the mid twenties. The temperature in the quaint theatre was in the HIGH twenties and it wasn't long before more medics were piling into the full house to treat audience members who were flaking out in the heat. Afterwards, we met up in the bar with my friend, Colin, who was in the play and watched out of the window as lightning lit the sky and the heavens opened. Finally got back to the hotel about 11.30 and went to sleep, exhausted. No, I didn't. I lay awake, listening to the aforementioned hen parties singing and screaming until three in the morning. Arrived at East Midlands airport around 1.15 for the 3.30 flight back to Edinburgh. We took off at 6.30. We spent something like ten hours in airports for two 50-minute flights.
Don't ask me if I had a nice weekend.
