Minnie’s Musings

The fact that getting through security had involved dismantling some extremely tight packing (when I realised that Toronto doesn’t have the jazzy new x-ray machines that let you pass through with small liquid containers), the shoving of dismantled contents into random shopping bags and then the rush to find our departure gate – with purchase a large bottle of maple syrup and two packets of biscuits for the children en route – meant that we got on the plane with about six carry on bags of varying sizes including one which only contained a now inedible banana and deeply bruised apple. So vexed were the cabin staff with this delay to their planned early departure that we late – but NOT the last to arrive,, so there! – passengers were ushered to our seats without our quantity of hand luggage being questioned.

Fully prepared this time for petty tightness of the modern airline where they will charge you for sneezing if they can possibly get away with it, I plugged my own earphones into my screen and watched two mediocre movies and then made friends with a delightful Canadian student sitting next to me. She was on her way back to Swansea and her boyfriend where she was completing her law degree.

Said Canadian shared my alarm as our plane wobbled down through the clouds at Gatwick to execute a bumpy landing with cacophonous squealing of breaks (I was clutching Best Beloved’s hand with enough strength to cut off a blood supply. Canadian student would have grabbed hold too, if our acquaintance had been just a little longer) and joined us in our trek through passport control to baggage claim.

After a considerable wait at the far end of the hall, cases were spat out and trundled along the conveyor belt into grateful waiting hands. In two batches with a significant pause between. Canadian student’s very smart travel themed case arrived but she stayed to chat as her bus to Swansea was some two hours hence. There was no third batch.

We waited. We mused. We speculated. We took it in turns to go to the loo. We went to check the over-sized baggage area (our case wasn’t over-sized OR over-weight). We looked to see if there were other passengers looking as anxious as us. There were. They were all from the connecting flight from Edmonton. Best-beloved – who had the bar code sticker stuck to his passport – went to make enquiries.

Canadian student said a regretful good bye and wished us the best of luck in finding our case as she went to find her bus. I picked up our hand luggage and trotted off to find Best Beloved. By this time I had acquired followers namely a British Canadian family who had only one out of their many cases.

Best Beloved was tapping away at the ‘Delayed Baggage’ terminal. Lost baggage has been rebranded it seems. Two members of staff were on hand to help with the tapping in of details for which read negotiating the vicissitudes of the online tracking service which was decidedly picky about the form and format of personal details. We finally pressed enter, took a picture of the reference and trotted off to find some breakfast.

Deep breath and do try to stay awake…