The Long Way Down

Alfred Street, Central Belfast, 4 p.m. It's time to head home. As far as trips back to Monkswood, South East Wales, this shouldn't be too bad. A 55 mnute flight to Bristol, 15 minutes on the airport shuttle and then a 40 minute train ride to Newport where a smiling John or Cathie will be waiting for a quick ride home. All told we leave Belfast at 6:30 and should be home by 8:30, ready for a nice sleep before work and school in the morning. That was the plan, that was what we expected, but the reality turned out to be far different.

Getting to George Best Belfast City Airport was a breeze, but that's where it ended. First we sat on the runway waiting. We were told all was not well in Bristol, but a few minutes later the Ryanair flight was homeward bound. It was quite clever really get us in the air before telling us the bad news. We weren't landing in Bristol, and as Cardiff the closest airport is not a Ryanair destination we were heading to Birmingham. Grab your atlas and have a look, Birmingham is along way in the wrong direction, also as it is a Ryanair port that services Belfast it is fair to assume anyone going to Belfast who wanted to be in Birmingham had got the flight out of there already.
Oh well, not a lot we could do and Ryanair will come to the party and help us get back to Bristol.

We landed in Birmingham, not where we wanted to be, but hey we're on the ground and can start making our way home, Right.

WRONG!

Ryanair showed their true colours now.
They'll get you to Bristol Airport at their earliest convinence. Trouble was there earliest convinence was 9:45. Any other way of getting home was now out of the question.
Finally at this point Maddy started earning her keep. Because she was a child we were allowed on the 9:30 bus. I know it was only 15 minutes, but it made it more likely we'd make the shuttle at Bristol Airport which was the last one for the night leaving at 5 to 12.
With full appreciation for the British Motorway systems we raced to Bristol Airpot arriving at quarter to 12. Next we boarded our shuttle for which we didn't have to pay because I hadn't shown our ticket on our return from Montpellier.
As the clock struck Midnight we arrived at Bristol Temple Meads (the most beautiful train station). The good news was we could get home, the bad news was it was the last train to leave for the night, and it went at 1:32 am.
While we awaited our chariot, we shared the waiting room with a homeless man who had all his wordly possessions in a black rubbish bag at his feet. For the first and probably only time in my life I became envious of a homeless man, as despite his surroundings and the chill that engulfed the station he fell into a deep slumber and began to snore.
No such luxury for us though, we had a train to catch and so wearily we heading home towards Newport. Although we had prebought our tickets, no guard meant no stamp (those tickets came in useful a week later as we took in the sights of Bristol one more time). At 2 a.m. we appeared outside Newport station and barely half an hour later we were in our front door, 22 pounds poorer having paid for the taxi.
Finally at 2:30 our heads hit the pillow, where they would stay utill 11 o'clock for Prue and well after midday for Joseph and Maddy. As for me I was afforded no such luxary. It was up for school at 6:45 a.m. but joy o joy my task for the task was to teach 4 dance lessons. No chance for a quick nap during silent reading, damn it!