Following on from Part 1 (if you can bear to…), we are on the airport shuttle from the car park to Terminal 2 in Heathrow with the tickets, passports and Richy’s wallet on the roof of the car in the long stay car park. I don’t think I need to detail the kind of exchange (or non-exchange) we were having for the remainder of the 20 minute journey.
At the terminal, Richy jumped in a black cab back to the car park, while I went to check that flights to Morocco went from Terminal 2, at the help desk. “No, lady, you be needing Terminal 4”, said the cheerful man. I sat and waited for Richy near the entrance, watching all the happy holiday goers rush around, refusing to think about what we would do if someone had nicked the stash off the car. 40 minutes later he returned with everything safe. It turned out the cab wouldn’t drive into the car park because of the fee, so Richy had to run a bit of a distance to the car from the road and then wait for the shuttle bus again. Still, crisis averted. We set off for the train to Terminal 4.
Twenty minutes later, we were in the terminal 4 (with just enough time to check in) and excitement began to replace the horror. THIS was what I had been looking forward to… check in, a browse around the shops, bit of nosh, HOLIDAYTIME!!!…..
We looked at the departure boards to check our flight details. Mmmm.. That’s a bit strange. No flight details. The only flight listed to Marrakech left at 5pm. They must have left our flight off. Over to the help desk. “Er, sorry, but you seem to have left the 1pm flight to Marrakech off the board?” “There is no flight until 5pm”, the helpful person replied, tapping away on her keyboard. “No, there must be some mistake, we’re flying at 1pm, look here are our tickets…” She took our tickets, and tappy tapped in the flight number. “Oh yes”, she said, “You are right. 1pm to Marrakech. From Gatwick”.
To be continued….
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