Eejit

You are looking at the blip post of an imbecile, an unmitigated idiot!

It had all begun so well, everything timed to perfection. The six o'clock rise, breakfast, the taxi to Paddington, the Heathrow Express pulling out of the station just before eight, destined to get me to the airport two hours before my flight.

Only one problem. It was the wrong airport!

The realisation came to me as the train pulled into the first stop and I checked to see which terminal I wanted. Only to discover I should have been at Gatwick.

Panic! Too late to get back to London and cross the city to get the Gatwick Express. The next inter-airport bus was at 8.40, but at that time of day wouldn't get me to Gatwick until 10am. My flight was at 10.15.

A kindly lady at the ticket desk called me a taxi. It would arrive at 8.30 and the journey time would be 40 minutes. Just enough time to catch my plane - by the skin of my teeth.

I related my plight to the driver and he roared up on to the M25, determined I would make it. Hope still lived in my heart.

Then we hit the parking lot. Four lanes of stationary traffic as far as you could see through the rain and the grey early morning. And I knew the game was a bogey.

So I buried my head in the Easy Jet app on my phone to see if there was another flight. And there was. At 16.45. I went through the processes, and by the time I was ready to click and buy the traffic was moving again. The driver put his foot to the floor and we hurtled through the rain.

To buy or not to buy. That was the question. It was 9.20 with 24 miles to go. I hit "buy".

We got to the north terminal just before 9.45. The Easy Jet desks were deserted, save for a couple of check-in clerks engaged in idle conversation. I arrived breathless and stressed - only to be told that the flight was closed - and they couldn't find any record of the booking for the later flight that I had made in the taxi.

Better luck at the customer service desk, where the girl found my booking and printed a confirmation. They even let me check my bag, and I went airside.

So here I am, my flight still more than two hours away, having eaten slept on a bench, read and endlessly cursed my stupidity. At least I will still get home today, albeit seven hours later than intended. Poor J will have to wait just a little longer for her most stupid of husbands!