Gatwick is so anal. Everything is mechanised even to the point of processing your luggage label and receipt. I quite enjoyed that really. How many times have we watched the ground staff lady print off the long sticky label and bent down to wrap it around my case handle and stick it together. Sorted. I’m now eligible as a ground staff sticky labeller. Of course the plane took off late and of course it was gate 110 not 5 or 7. It’s of no consequence because I’m sat on the front row next to a six foot 3 inch tall blonde lady with legs that went on forever…and she wore shorts. In front of me was the tallest cabin manager, so sweet with a long black pony tail and pencil slim skirt and she is a man…so I am in for a varied short flight.
It’s dark and I’m lugging my case and wearing my bright blue backpack so even though my app says its 0.9Km to the hotel I’m going to the taxi rank. I know that sounds stupid when I’m contemplating a huge trek but in front of me is spaghetti junction, buses and fast traffic with no sidewalks. So instead Ill wait in the queue. Mr. America next to me insists we form a line as he is first and there are no taxi’s in sight. I’m good, I’m positive even though the lady next to me is reading my luggage labels. I turn and smile at her.
“Are you going to the hotel Campanile? She asks. “ I stayed there last year, its just down the road, that one I think. It’s difficult in the dark isn’t it? You can share my taxi if you want”
Yeay!! She is second in the line and I am third but there are still no taxi’s.
The hotel looms and Mr. Taxi driver is charming and it cost 5 euros which means I probably only travelled 700 yards! So here I am, spat out in Biarritz. “Can I get something to eat?’NON
“Is it possible to have room service? Mais Non
“Oh”
She points to the fridge behind me which has crisps and chocolate and wine!!”
Sorted, 2 little airport bottles of Rose and rouge, and 2 cobs of bread begged from the chef and I’m sorted.