I’ve decided I’ve got to do this story in sections, otherwise it will be too long (and unbelievable… I’ve already blogged about the very end).  I’ll start with the background and beginnings.  Richy Rich and I booked a mammoth weekend away last November. Three nights in Marrakech.  As I kept boring everyone I came across beforehand, even spending time with Richy in the airport was gonna be amazing, let alone the actual trip.  

This trip was a major operation which involved military type preparation; leaving Rosie Blue, Laughing Boy, Tomo and two dogs to look after themselves.  Early on I gave Richy the list of tasks and asked him what he wanted to take responsibility for; tickets/passports or everything else. He went for tickets and passports.

The tickets were already booked, and Richy found the passports.  I started on the rest of the tasks; organising food, dog food, timetable of activities, phone numbers, layers of support (from nearby grandparents to immediate neighbours), list of do’s and don’ts, packing, sorting out stuff, etc, etc, etc, etc.

Eventually it was the big day. Once everyone went to school on time (LB on the eel bus), we jumped in the car and set off for Heathrow.  (At this point I am brushing over the enormous row we’d had the night before that continued into the following day).  Anyway, got onto the motorway, traffic looking good, we were motoring… Richy, who was driving, asked me to look at the tickets to see what terminal we were in. He had them packed in a little travel pouch with the passports.  I had a look but it didn’t say. (Those non-regular readers might want to have a little diversion at this point and read this earlier post.)

Not having a terminal listed wasn’t a big problem because we had an iphone. I googled ‘air maroc terminal Heathrow’ and it came up with Terminal 2.  Coolio.  We made very good time, parked the car in Terminal 2 car park, walked over to the bus stop and only had to wait a few minutes for the shuttle bus to the airport.  Once on the bus for the 20 minute ride to the terminal, Richy started to behave really oddly. He kept patting his pockets, zipping and unzipping his hand luggage and his face turned all sorts of colours.  “What’s wrong?”, I asked, though we were still in the frosty zone.  “Er..”, he said, still frantically and robotically patting everything he could get his hands on. “I think I’ve left my wallet, the tickets and passports on the roof of the car”.

“YOU.HAVE.GOT.TO.BE.JOKING.ME”.

To be continued…

credits: special effects by Tomo