The ordeal was almost over...

During the week, somewhere along the line, I managed to injure myself. I don't know how I managed it, there was no trauma to any bones or joints, but at some stage I damaged my right foot. It's funny because whenever I say something like, "You know what? I haven't had a bad foot in ages!" Or whatever, but if I say something like that I'll get a bad foot or I'll be stuck somewhere and inconvenienced in a big way.  Last week, that's just what I said, "Do you know what? I haven't had a bad foot in ages!" And it was true, I hadn't. Occasionally, let's say once, possibly twice a year, I did something to one of my feet, God knows what, but it left me limping for a few days, my foot swelled up, I took a few Nurofen and that was it, but for a long time now, absolutely nothing wrong with my foot, until I mentioned it a week ago. I don't remember exactly when it happened, probably Wednesday, and I checked it out on the internet. "Lateral foot pain – caused by excessive walking wearing the wrong shoes." It might have said 'inappropriate footwear'. Walking in inappropriate footwear. Well, that's roughly what I was indulging in last week, excessive walking. In Doctor Martens shoes that have worn down a little on one side of the heel. In a nutshell, I can't walk and I'm in pain when I do. I hobble, that's the best way of describing it. One minute I was fine, the next I'm hobbling like a tramp and getting nowhere fast. Fortunately, my work was done (or most of it) so it had no detrimental effect on anything other than on myself. But I'm hobbling, right? Making slow progress. And its when I'm in this kind of state that things start to go wrong. 

I have shared most flights on this trip with my colleague Catherine, but not this last one, she was on an earlier flight that was severely delayed. As I write this I am sitting alone in Terminal 7 of JFK and I have two hours to go before I take off. Earlier, I had to queue for well over an hour to speak to one of two people who were dealing with passenger enquiries in a very slow and infuriating manner; it was painful to watch let alone be a part of, but there was nothing I could do about it. After a long while, however, I was given my flight documents, told to go from Terminal 8 to Terminal 7 and that it was advisable not to leave the airport. I stayed in Terminal 8 with a bunch of people who found themselves in the same boat. Some even slept under blankets provided, others, like me, sat chatting with other stranded people and there was, of course, an element of the Dunkirk Spirit about the situation. I found myself with Lisa Schiller, an American lawyer from Fort Lauderdale who had given up being a solicitor to run her own business. She was travelling to Oman for a holiday, but her flight from Miami had messed up in some way, leaving her temporarily stranded and wondering whether to call the whole thing off. She spoke of her dogs and how she gets a lot of iguanas in her back garden and how her dog chases them. I helped her book her seat and check in online and we chatted about this and that until I had to change terminals and she made her way to the Admiral's Lounge (the first class lounge for American Airlines). She was happy for me to be her guest, but I had to be in Terminal Seven, which was decidedly different from Terminal Eight, let's say a little more basic.

Air Train to Terminal 7.

I hobbled to the Air Train, which took me from Terminal 8 to Terminal 7, and nobody (I mean nobody) was going to come to my aid, offer help in the shape of a wheelchair, which was what I needed. Not that I was going to accept any assistance. Jumping into a wheelchair equals defeat in my book and I wasn't in any mood to surrender. I hobbled from the Air Train to Terminal 7 and started to queue for a boarding pass, but then decided I'd be better off using the terminals provided and, unusually, they worked and I was issued with a boarding pass. It was time for my favourite part of the game: security. I was told to put everything in one tray, I didn't have to take the laptop out of its case, which was odd, but I had to take my jumper off, revealing the legend of my tee-shirt: "I bring NOTHING to the table!" The slogan was absolutely right, I brought nothing to the table. I had to take my shoes off too, which was most annoying, thanks to Richard Reeve, the shoe bomber - I'm so glad he's in prison - and soon I noticed that, unlike in Terminal 8 and on every plane I'd flown in, everybody was wearing a face mask and the police were advising people to wear them. Plenty were, but a few broke the rule (including me). That was all I needed, to be arrested, so I stuck close to the gate was told that would start in 20 minutes.

The flight home was as boring as hell and there was plenty of turbulence to keep me on my toes, except that my foot was in a bad way so the likelihood of me being 'on my toes' was low. Like on the outward flight last Saturday, I couldn't really concentrate, I simply wasn't in the mood. Unlike previous trips abroad I wasn't particularly fired up about anything; normally I might read the papers from back to front, dip into a book, read the inflight magazine, enjoy the airline food and so on, watch a movie, listen to music. Not this time. It was my first trip since lockdown, perhaps that was it, but basically I simply endured it. You could say I 'did my time'. I sat there, talked to nobody (not that I ever talk to my fellow passengers), I didn't even look at the map of the plane as it made its way across the Atlantic, I wasn't interested. I started doing the 'time' thing: 'in one hour there will be two hours and 45 minutes to go' and so on and I tried not to look at my watch, and when I did look at it only five minutes had elapsed despite the fact that I thought otherwise. I ate what they gave me: a full English breakfast, which was quite enjoyable, and then a turkey and ham roll that I eventually discarded. There was a mini Milky Way chocolate bar (in the US they're more like Mars bars) I endured the flight and the turbulence and the severely cramped conditions and, as always, I built up a tremendous hatred towards class divisions, which are more than evident on a plane, which is sectionalised based on how much you're prepared to pay. If you're sitting at the front you get more space and better food and service, they call you 'sir' for heaven's sake. If you're at the back, 'sir' doesn't come into it, your conditions are squeezed and the food is basic and poor. Curtains divide the sections and you don't encroach on the space of those who pay more than you, they don't want to mix with plebs like you. But I always think that if the plane goes down we will all die, even if those at the front die clasping a glass of Champagne. Bully for them! 

Now boarding flight BA178 

The plane touched down around 10 minutes earlier than scheduled (big deal!) and then I discovered that British Airways had lost my luggage. After faffing around filling in forms I met my taxi driver and was driven home along the M25 and M23. I reached the house around 2200hrs and sat watching before I willingly hit the sack, waking late in the day. It was Sunday and sunny and the garden looked good. I checked out my swollen foot with the guys at 111 and a doc advised a visit to A&E to check out the swelling. I'm not in too much pain, I'm better than I was, but I'm still limping and the foot is red and swollen.

My lost luggage was delivered to the house later in the day.

The photograph on the left was of the interior of flight BA178 from JFK to London Heathrow. I'd just sat down. It was a full flight (always is) but there was no way that British Airways was going to give me a more comfortable seat to ease the hassle with my foot. They never help and I was stuck in the cramped conditions for just over seven hours. I found two vacant seats at the back of the plane and was told they were for the crew, but the crew never used them and later I found two men there when previously nobody occupyed them. British Airways is always like this and if you ever need to contact them, ALL the numbers listed are useless, even if it says 24-hour assistance and you call out of hours, there's always a recorded voice asking you to call between 0800hrs and whenever, but they're never available when you want them to be. In so many ways a sham of an airline.