The long journey home

That was a fantastically interesting week. I wouldn't go so far as to say entirely enjoyable, as it was mostly work, but it was definitely one of the more interesting weeks I've had.

My journey home started around 10am from the Hotel to the Airport. More "5Km" and hand waving as we went... Still not sure what they meant.

Thanks to my colleague Susannah all flights were perfectly booked and turning up with a scruffy bit of paper as an e-ticket worked every time.

Security at all the airports I visited this trip was tight. 3 sets of scanners. One to get in the building, one to get through passport control and one before you board the plane. They don't do that in the UK at Heathrow, Gatwick or Birmingham...

In flight entertainment was pretty much the same as on the way out, but I'd got bored with my MP3 collection on the limited phone memory, and looked to see what the flight offerred. I've been haunted by Durran Durran this summer ever since making friends with a Durran Durran fan in Second Life. Until then I'd more or less forgotten that I quite liked them in the 80s and ever since everywhere I've been they have popped up in one form or another. Very odd. This was no exception - top of the in flight playlist Durran Durran Greatest. I listened for a bit, then got chatting to an elderly Turkish fella sitting next to me.

We whiled away the flight, with him telling me of his days as a student in Liverpool in the 1950s and crazy motorbike adventures he'd been on driving through the Alps to Slovenia and other places. I liked his attitude. Even though he was a Muslim and it was Ramadam, he drank wine with his meal. 2 bottles in fact. He told me he had become accustomed to drinking wine with a meal while living in France and that it was perfectly civilised to do it. Only the radical influences from Saudia Arabia would frown on it he assured me...

After 4 hours we landed in Heathrow, and it seemed to take an age to taxi to the stand. Everyone stood up to get out and the temperature started to rise while we waited for the doors to open. My elderly Turk was in a rush to meet a train, and gently nudged the fella in front of us to ask him to hurry up and get his bag sorted out once the aisle started to move. Angrily the bloke turned round and shouted at my pleasant friend. To which I was startled to hear him shout back "Don't tell me what to do, you Bloody American". The plane fell silent for a few moments and one or two people clapped. It struck me that this elderly Turk, knew damn well this guy wasn't American, and calling someone a "Bloody American" had become an insult in his eyes. I found that a bit disturbing.

Finally got off the plane and walked 500 miles to the baggage claim and passport control. Out of the airport into fresh air at last. Off to the coach station and a 40 minute wait for the bus. Eventually it turned up and I sat on the very back seat so I could stretch my legs out down the middle of the bus and have plenty of space. The journey from Heathrow to Swindon is at most 60 miles I would guess. 3 1/2 hours later I was still on the M4 stuck in a horrendous jam caused by rubber neckers looking at an overturned truck on the opposite carriageway. By now I was getting pretty cross, and tired and hungry. Eventually through the jam I rang Liz to ask her to pick me up at one of the drop off points as we neared the motorway junction.

I stood in the cold for at least another 45 mins waiting, and eventually after having driven right past me even though I jumped out waving my arms she found me and took me home. I wasn't in the best of moods at this point it has to be said. But I was glad to be back, and able to sit comfortably in my own house at long last.

What a long journey. Over 14 hours by the time I got home.