No More Planes

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One of the nicest things about our holiday up the East Coast last year was that it didn’t involve getting on a plane. We just threw our stuff in the back of the car and off we went.

We’ve just made plans for a few days break over Easter and we’ve done the same thing – booked a cottage that is less than a couple of hours drive away.

I am not keen to get on a plane again for a good long while.

I’ve been trying to work out when it stopped being fun because as a child even the prospect of flying was brilliant. Growing up on Harris, I used to lie on my back in the garden looking at the sky. Tiny Loganair planes flew over the house, on their way to adventures in Inverness or even Glasgow. I would imagine the strangers in suits, quietly reading newspapers and sipping drinks that sparkled with ice cubes and slices of lemon. When I visited my Grandpa, down in Staffordshire, I’d lie and watch bigger planes that had taken off from Manchester. I always thought the rows of white jet trails looked like someone had dragged a fork across the sky. Continue reading

The Challenges of Flying with Young Children

Passenger plane in the sky

“Oh no,” said DorkyDad. “What a terrible start to a holiday.” We had just been treated to the sight of Alex Salmond, recently off a flight from London, strutting through Edinburgh airport. For a man in a crumpled suit, he exuded an extraordinary air of arrogance.

As it turned out, DorkyDad was right. Our holiday did not get off to a great start. A security alert at Edinburgh meant that we missed our connection at Heathrow. Despite arriving with 25 minutes to spare, we were discouraged from even attempting to catch it, and had already been re-booked onto another flight the next morning.

There followed a farcical afternoon and early evening, in which we were sent from floor to floor, desk to desk, and back again, in an attempt to secure three things: our bags and DorkySon’s pram, a bed for the night, and confirmation of our flight the next day. It proved surprisingly difficult. Individually, every member of staff we spoke to was lovely. Collectively it seemed like the right hand wasn’t even aware of the left hand’s existence. I am giving myself a week or two more to chill out before I write to BA… but they had better be ready for me. Continue reading