It has been a very long time since I have checked in with the blog. Most of you know it’s because I have been off gallivanting across Europe, ignoring all my responsibilities in the USA.
Earlier this year, I made a decision and subsequently a plan to bugger off for a few weeks….well six of them actually. You see, historically, I’ve been going back to the UK on and off since I first moved to the USA in 1981. Yes, I did say 1981, the last century, 36 years ago. So hard to believe really, I was 20 years old, with 2 young children and a dream to live a better life than I could in the UK. Well over the ensuing years I’ve gone home to see my mum, dad and the rest of the family (as everyone else stayed there), but during all those trips I never seemed to have enough vacation time, or money to go anywhere else while I was in the UK. Rather like standing in front of a pile of Cadbury chocolates with your mouth sewn together. Or having a car and no money for gas…I could go on with my metaphors here folks.
But nowadays both my parents are gone, and so my only purpose in going home is to see my siblings (3 of them, Lynne, Denise & Richard) and various other relatives. This year, for the first time ever, I decided to embrace my unemployed status, be creative financially, and take as much time as I needed, and plan a massive trip back to Blighty (England).
First hurdle…..telling the spouse. When I shared plans of my intended trip with the Gumpster, he was initially quite thrilled at the prospect….well who wouldn’t be? Six weeks of no nagging. Six weeks to leave dishes and dirty clothing strewn about the place…AND even better….six weeks of working all the hours he wanted to without me moaning about it. Gump was happy to give me his agreement, I could bugger off, and he’d hold the fort. Well maybe not hold it, just keep one eye on it.
Have I mentioned that I have an absolute, gut-wrenching, abominable fear of flying? This is always such a massive hurdle to overcome when trying to travel across half of the USA and an entire ocean. It’s been a bane in my life for many years. I have valiantly fought it as well as I might using any method I can that helps. I’ve narrowed it into something doable, by following these steps.
- Get serious drugs from the doctor
- Upgrade to Business Class – so if you crash, you can do so in comfort, with a free alcoholic beverage and a free tote with toothbrush and toothpaste.
- Take as few planes as possible, make sure they are LARGE.
- Book a British airline so one can purloin a decent cup of tea (sorry USA, you still don’t know how to make one).
I checked all four criteria off my list, and as time passed and the appointed travel day grew closer, I packed, re-packed, and then did it again for good measure. I checked my passports (yes that is plural) because I am a secret agent and my name is Jude Bourne….okay, no it isn’t….but I am a dual citizen of the USA and the UK. I had my pounds and Euros, iPad, book to read and extra sedatives.
The night before I left, I took my ‘night before flying so I can go to sleep’ pill, and then proceeded to go over Gump’s list of how to keep a house going for six weeks without your wife. I could tell he wasn’t paying attention to anything I said because he kept grinning and looking happy. This did not surprise or bother me. Gump was welcome to his six weeks of peace, pizza and endless sci-fi shows. I was going to see many wonders of the world. I ignored the beam of radiance from his face.
Then I got a text from the renter at my old house….major dilemma and problem, one that had my mind in a frantic spin. The Gump list was abandoned as we flew into action to manage a tricky situation. An hour later and we were back to the list again, but by then Gump was half asleep, and I was rather drugged, so we called it a night and went to bed.
I had just settled back into my pillows when my phone on the desk in the office beeped. I don’t usually hear it, but thank goodness I did…..it was American Airlines…..they had texted me to let me know that my flight to Chicago had been cancelled. Wait…what? Yep, cancelled, history…. not gonna happen……That was it, the end. No flight. I shrieked in dismay…..I had a flight from O’Hare to the UK I had to make….it wasn’t like I could drive there…..this was a bad omen……
I called the airline, and fortunately I managed to talk to a human, and a very helpful one at that. The young guy got me on another flight….to Dallas….and then a flight from Dallas to Chicago…..Okay, that would get me to the main flight, but now I had to get on two planes just to get to Chicago……I was inconsolable…..even Gump felt sorry for me and stopped grinning.
Surpisingly I slept…but not very well as I was medicated…..The next morning, I was quiet, grumpy, under the influence of Xanex and trying miserably to kid my brain that I was going to run some errands while taking 2 suitcases along, and not fly in a plane. I took another pill and marveled how my mind could still go nuts with narcotics in my blood stream. I looked around the house. Would I survive the trip? Would I ever see this house again?
Gump drove me to the airport and was quite jovial (bastard)…he tried to cheer me up with tales of fish and chips and chocolate, but it wasn’t working. I had three planes to get on, and I wasn’t happy. If a naked Mark Wahlberg had been waiting in London for me I still wouldn’t have smiled.
Outside Tulsa International Airport (which has NO international flights) Gump and I said our wobbly goodbyes, and as he gave me a big warm bear hug, he tactfully reminded me to look out for terrorists, especially in France. We said our farewells and off he went, and I couldn’t help but notice that the truck looked so light I thought it might fly….Gump was footloose and fancy free!
How I got from the airport entrance to the gate is still beyond me – all I remember is the chanting in my head that told me there was still time to cancel everything…..go back to the house and unpack…..after all, this trip was all my idea….I had the power to stop the whole thing. But then I thought about all the people I would be letting down, some of my older relatives that I really wanted to see. Okay I also thought about the damned chocolate, fish and chips and pastries too……..and I got on the sodding plane.
By the time I reached Chicago, my demeanor had improved a tad. This I had accomplished by bothering people sitting next to me on both planes, eating anything the flight attendants threw at me regardless of their gluten content, and reading all the magazines I’d brought along.
I got the tram at O’Hare, and headed toward the international terminal…..because I really was leaving the country…..eek….
When you fly on domestic planes in the USA, you always get a huge shock when you actually get to see the size of the plane that is going to carry you away from the USA. The plane at my gate looked like Captain Kirk would be the pilot. It was actually a 747, regaled with the Union Jack on its tail fin that announced it as a British Aircraft. As I boarded the beast, polite British voices welcomed me aboard, saw me to my seat and instantly handed me a British newspaper……I was riveted to the spot, my ears the size of Dumbo’s as I took in every single sound around me. Different dialects from the British Isles sounded like wonderful melodies to my starving eardrums… so lovely and familiar. I sat back in my upgraded seat and closed my eyes. I could do this….right?
Hell no – I was still absolutely terrified, and as the massive plane ate up the runway and launched itself up into the skies, I sat paralyzed in my fancy seat, my nose buried in a paper I wasn’t reading, while I told myself that I was now stuck inside a huge metal tube and there was no going back no matter what.
I would take another pill, eat, and then force myself to sleep and make the 7 ½ hours pass as quickly as possible. And no matter what, I would not look out of a window until we were close to Heathrow Airport.
And that is exactly what I did……………
Stay tuned…………