Delta Flight DL16 Detroit to London Heathrow, 13th May 2023...

We took off virtually on time at 1835hrs and our flight time is six hours and 56 minutes, so virtually seven hours. Currently, there are six hours and 38 minutes until we land at London Heathrow - we've just taken off in other words - and right now it is light outside. There is cloud below us and wispy clouds above and the plane in which we are travelling is an Airbus A330-200, ship number N861NW. You might be wondering how I know all this information, and it's simple: it's all written down for me on the flight information screen. Just so you know, the cloud has disappeared and below me I can seen land. I'm guessing it's Canada but I might be wrong and I've yet to find a flight map. Wherever it is, it's very green and relatively flat outside. I've just pressed the button that says 'flight tracker' and a map has appeared. I think we might be still in North America but we're certainly heading east at present although soon we'll be heading North East and out across the North Atlantic Ocean towards the UK. Land is once again obscured by cloud. It looks as if we'll be travelling over Newfoundland before we reach the sea. Land has appeared again and I've been handed a bottle of mineral water and some cutlery - the two items aren't related in any way. We are 3,575 miles from home and there's six hours and 24 minutes to go. We are travelling at 35,001 feet and it's looking a little mountainous out there right now. Temperature wise it's minus 60 deg F. Now that's cold.

Just to let you know, I'm sitting in seat 37J and have nobody sitting next to me; this is great news, really great news, as it means I can stretch out a little bit. The map has frozen for some reason, but we'll ignore that. Below the land has disappeared again although I can just about make it out here and there.

The words 'please wait' have appeared on my screen. Well, there's not much else I can do other than read or eat. Land has made a brief appearance again and now it is gone. Things change fast when you're flying.

Gate A36, Detroit airport, USA.

There are six hours and 12 minutes until I arrive in London.

[Time has elapsed]: There's now four hours and 52 minutes to go and I'm watching No Country for Old Men. I've seen it a lot, well, at least three times, so it's on in the background so to speak. Dinner was amazing and I'm glad to say that Delta really is an amazing airline. The outward flight was wonderful and now I'm on the return journey and the food was great, chicken again and this time with rice and needless to say I ate the lot and the accompanying rice salad and the dessert, the whole shebang. I also had a glass of Pellegrino (my favourite mineral water) and finished off that bottle of still water I was given earlier on in the flight.

On the ground at Detroit...

It's dark outside now, pitch black. I'm guessing we're over the Atlantic, no more lights below. The cabin lights have been dimmed and the fasten seat belt notice is on. People are sleeping, watching movies and I'm multi-tasking, watching a film and writing too. There's almost four and a half hours to go and I'm wondering when it will start gettting light. At home it's just gone 2am, meaning it will get lighter in about two hours from now, possibly a little longer and I guess we'll be near Ireland by then, not sure. I just want to be home and over the jet lag.

When No Country for Old Men finished I watched Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, but never saw it to the end. Not that I haven't seen it before. I switched all my screens off, opened up one of the pillows and tried to get some sleep, which, as always, proved impossible. Getting that pillow out was so optimistic. As the clock continued its countdown I noticed that, with 90 minutes to go, there were signs of daylight. It's now fully light outside now and below us is a bed of white cloud. There are now 19 minutes to go and as always I find it hard to believe that we'll be on the ground in that time.

People are still watching movies and trying to sleep.There are 16 minutes to go of six hours and 59 minutes (I swear it said 56 minutes earlier). As I write this we have travelled 3,914.95 miles.

My plan once we've landed is to call a cab and then find somewhere to drink tea and chill a little, then, when I get home, I'll relax, probably with another cup of tea.

In the air en route to London Heathrow airport...

The pilot - or somebody on the flight deck - says we will be landing shortly, but I still can't believe we'll be on the ground in 11 minutes. Somehow, they always manage it so I won't be too cocky. Mind you, this is London Heathrow and planes have been known to circle a few times before landing. That said, the pilot did use the phrase 'final approach'. Seven minutes. Surely they will have to reset the clock. I just know that when we come through the thick cloud that is currently below us we will still be a long way from the ground, we always are. Six minutes to landing, says the clock, the cloud is getting closer, the flaps are up and the sun is out. It's far colder than it was in Detroit (at least I think it is).

My iphone still says it's 0148hrs, Detroit time, but that will change when we're on the ground. We're in the cloud now but no sign of land. One minute to touchdown. Really? Hold on, land ahoy - they were right -and we ARE about to land. Touchdown! I've switched off airplane mode on the iphone and the time now reads 0655hrs as the plane makes its way to terminal building. It's misty outside and I can see a lot of British Airways planes on the tarmac. I'm not keen on British Airways.

On the tarmac at London Heathrow airport...misty and cold

I decided not to get a cab. Why waste money? Instead I got home for absolutely nothing - thanks to my Oyster Card - and I didn't bother stopping for a coffee either. I took the Elizabeth Line to Farringdon then took a train to Moorgate and then onwards to London Bridge where I picked up a Thameslink train to East Croydon. From there I took a cab, but it was a fraction of the cost it might have cost me had I booked one from the airport. I reached home around 1000hrs and spent the day sitting around, nodding off here and there but I was fine, I even stayed up until gone 2300hrs watching television. All week I felt a little weary as did my colleague, who had been on the same trip, but slowly life returned back to normal and now I need to try my best to ditch all the bad foods and drum up some motivation to get fit.

Hating the sound of my own 'voice' and other observations...

I awoke to the realisation that I hate the sound of my own 'voice'. And the reason for those inverted commas is simple: I hate the sound of my written 'voice'. I'm annoyed with myself for putting myself in this predicament just for a bit of cash and now, of course, I have to pay the price: sitting in a Marriott Courtyard Hotel alone with nothing to do and nowhere to go. It's an airport hotel, there's not really anywhere to walk and if there was, it would probably be too dangerous. Don't forget, I'm in Detroit. 

The depths of depression

They have a pool but I have no swimming gear. There's a gym, but my shorts are packed and I don't possess any trainers, just the business shoes I'm wearing. And the last thing I'm going to do is head on down there in my underpants and shoes, it's a ridiculous look and would remind me of that guy in Grand Theft Auto who seems to be running around half naked for some reason.

What to say about the hotel? Well, it's an airport hotel so I don't expect too much in terms of luxury, but it does offer a fairly decent room and a comfortable bed, but then there's a loud air-con unit that I can't switch off for love nor money. The bathroom is fine and, because everything I own is packed and checked in, I had to buy some more toothpaste and a toothbrush. I took a shower earlier and all that remains is to clean my teeth.

Outside, the roar of jets taking off. Inside the noise of the air-con. Everything else is silence. There are a few people here doing exactly what I'm doing, hanging around waiting for a flight. Why else would anybody stay here? The shuttle leaves for the airport every 30 minutes and sooner or later boredom will get the better of me and I'll check out and get on board.

I'm sitting here drinking Pellegrino mineral water, swigging from the bottle every five minutes or so. I was thinking earlier how big the room is; there are two double beds for a start and I figured that, if you took one of them out, the room would be big enough to be an apartment (with the exception of a kitchen). Not that I'd want to stay here. I'm feeling homesick as it is, and it's at times like these that I realise the importance of having a family. Hold on a second while I go to the bathroom...right, I'm back. What was I saying? Oh yes, family. I miss being home and it's even worse when you consider that not being there right this minute was based on a decision I deliberately took yesterday evening, but let's not fret about that any more, it's happened, an extra night in Detroit has also happened, it's now morning (1021hrs) and I've got to kill time before my flight at 1835hrs. In fact, hold on again while I double check my ticket...yes, that's right, it's 1835 take-off, boarding commences at 1742 and I'm sitting in a window seat, seat 37J. Admittedly there's no leg room like there was on the flight out here, but beggars can't be choosers.

Breakfast at the Courtyard by Marriott...

And there's a moot point. 'Beggars can't be choosers'. Suddenly, through my own doing, I've gained myself 'beggar' status. I'm on a back foot, but at least I've learned a lesson. Money ain't everything. Ok, it helps, and that's why I did this (takes another swig of Pellegrino) but ultimately life isn't a case of 'time is money'. We all have a finite time on this planet of ours and we should be spending it with our loved ones. My plan next week is to take some days off. I need to if I'm honest with myself. I work day-in and day-out and pay little attention to the fact that the weeks go by and I've got to take some annual leave. I think I've only taken one day off so far this year and normally what happens is I end up taking loads of time off in December just before Christmas, which is nice, but we really ought to be having holidays as a family and the plan is to do that this year, go somewhere close-by, like France or Spain, but either way just chill by a pool.

Room 116, Courtyard by Marriott Detroit Airport

I travel a lot in my job as you can probably tell by looking at this blog – check out the column on the right and you'll see all the places I've been to. Talking of yesterday and the flight home that I never took, I remember checking in; it was a hassle (when isn't it?). First there's the auto check-in consoles that never seem to work and then there's the fact that there's nobody around to help. Then there's other people. I hate other people, they're always getting in the way with their massive suitcases and I find myself wondering what the hell are they carrying, sometimes four or five, huge cases being lugged on to the baggage conveyor. There were three people ahead of me in the queue and they each had a big suitcase plus around three to four slightly smaller ones. Why? What the hell is in there? I'm sorry, but it annoys the hell out of me. It's like when I approach a ticket counter – anywhere in the world – and there's somebody there asking a question that seems to be extremely complicated, so much so that the guy behind the glass keeps walking off and consulting the i-ching and voluminous volumes of ancient sanskrit, laying out tarot cards. I don't know, it just bugs me a lot. And then, when finally it's my turn, I say something like "Return to Victoria", they press a few buttons and hey presto! I've got my ticket. Why is it that everybody makes life complicated when they travel?

Mineral water, I need more...

And don't you despise those people who really get into air travel? You know who I mean, they cover themselves in blankets and have one of those stupid L-shaped cushions and can be found walking around in their socks as if they're at home in their living room, they even enjoy being in the middle seat of the middle row. Unlike me. I need a window or the trip is a nightmare. I have to know what's going on outside. I need leg room, which, incidentally, I don't have on my flight tonight. I'm just hoping they'll be an exit seat available, but I'm not counting my chickens. [Takes a swig of Pellegrino].

My problem is I don't like flying long haul (if you can call a flight across the Atlantic 'long haul'). My flight tonight is around seven and a half hours and I can't wait to land at London Heathrow early on Sunday morning. I know how I'm going to feel. I'm going to feel like shit, but at least I'll be home and that's the main thing. Very often on my travels I've had to stay over another night due to flights being cancelled and so on. On this trip, however, it was me who delayed things (see previous post) and now I sit here, in room 116 of the Courtyard by Marriott just outside of Detroit airport and I'm wishing I was home, even if it is a bit grey and cloudy in the UK. Now don't get me wrong. Avid readers (I know I have some!) will recall my general stance on the UK and how much I hate it at this present time, thanks to the incumbent government, but it's where I live and, in that sense, where I want to be.

It's 1050 and there's nothing to do but sit here writing this blogpost. I have just one bottle of mineral water left to drink, I don't need to check out until noon and, for some reason, the final bottle of water (Aquafina – 'perfect water, perfect taste') is not sparkling but still. There's something disappointing about that. I am told to recycle the bottle with the cap on, which is fair enough as I've put the cap back on to both of the empty bottles of Pellegrino.

What to do next I wonder? I could take a walk around the hotel again, head down to where the pool is, or I could go take a look at the rather uninspiring gym or the gas log-effect fireplace in the lobby or even take a walk around the courtyard, the actual courtyard, that I can see from my room. I'm guessing that all Courtyard by Marriott hotels have courtyards, but I can't see anybody out there (excuse me while I open my bottle of still mineral water and take a swig)  – ah! that's better! – the thing I like about mineral water, actually, hold on, I need to use the bathroom, it's all the water I'm drinking...I'm back, but so is that noisy (and cold) air-con fan. Where was I? Oh, the courtyards. Yes, there's nobody out there and all I can see on the balconies of other rooms are vacant metal chairs. Are they made from steel or aluminium I wonder? I'd need a magnet to answer that question and I have one in my case, a fridge magnet. Perhaps I'll check that out and report back later. Perhaps not.

I guess another reason for doing this is my dislike of flying back, especially on a night flight as that means I can't see out, and I like to see out, I like to know what's going on. So – ah, that's good, the air-con fan has shut off, which is good as I've only got a shirt and jeans on – everything else is packed, so when the fan is on I get colder by the second. Now it's off and that's good. Yeah, I mean, I hate the flight back, I've probably already said this and if I have repeated myself then I'm sorry. So I look for ways of putting it off – the flight – but there's no point as sooner or later I've got to do it, fly across the Atlantic to my safe European home. I was wondering what would happen if, when I get there later today, they ask for volunteers to stay behind for another night. No is the answer, I simply couldn't face another night in an airport hotel listening to loud air-con units and roaring jets overhead. Somebody else can live the dream for a change.

The only good thing about tonight's flight is that my bags are already checked in and all I have is hand luggage. Yes, I've still got to go through security, but I don't have to queue, I don't have to use one of those check-in consoles, I just take off my shoes, get the laptop out, get searched and I'm through. I'll bypass the Society of the Spectacle and head straight for somewhere I can read until it's time to board and head home. I'm not going to enjoy any of the flight, I'm going to be awake throughout and I'm going to be counting down the hours as they pass, awaiting that moment when the darkness is replaced by light and I know we're only an hour or so out of Heathrow. But between now and then it's all about killing time. There's roughly 50 minutes before I need to check out of the Courtyard. In the UK it's around 1611hrs on Saturday afternoon. It's going to be nearer 2300hrs (UK time) when I take off from Detroit.

So, here I am, in room 116, listening to the distant – and sometimes not-so-distant – roar of the planes. I'm sipping mineral water, looking out on the lonely courtyard and the dandelions, peering occasionally at the unmade bed behind me and wondering what to do next. The air-con fan is back and that's my cue to visit the bathroom again...hold on. And I promise I won't keep you much longer. I think I've said all that needs to be said...okay, I'm back and there's little more to say. I'm going to clean my teeth, check out and kill time over at the airport, at least over there I'll find shops and hubbub and destinations boards and people milling around just like me waiting to go home.

In Windsor, Ontario...

For some reason everything was smooth sailing and there was an air of positivity surrounding me; it wasn't like last year's trip to Pittsburgh when COVID was still loitering with intent and I really thought I might have to wear a mask during the flight. As it turned out I didn't have to, but the whole thing had been fretful and unpleasant from the start. Not this year! Well, there was the one-armed taxi driver who took me to the airport, travelling through London on Coronation day at 20mph virtually all the way there, leaving little time to chill before the flight, although I managed a coffee, a pastry and a carton of fruit, granola and natural yoghurt, courtesy of Pret a Manger opposite Gate 28.

View from room 526, DoubleTree by Hilton, Windsor, Ontario

The first good thing was a direct flight. The last thing I wanted was the usual stop-over faff in Philadelphia or New York or Chicago. I had to move out of my comfort zone and fly with another airline (and not British Airways) but I think doing so was liberating. My take on British Airways is changing, it's a bit like my changing perception of the UK as a whole. For years I've been brainwashed into thinking that the UK is the best country in the world, the place to be from, the place to live, full of proper politicians who can do no wrong, a police force that isn't corrupt or full of rapists, racists and murderers and, of course, a health service that works. But no, it turns out I was wrong. I had been cheated. The Government is corrupt, there are rapists, racists and murderers amongst the ranks of our police force and the health service is on its knees.

Not a million miles from Detroit...

I've never been 100% happy with British Airways, but I had been conned by Léo Delibes' Flower Duet and the reassuring British accent of the pilots, although of late I've noticed them sounding more like contestants in The Apprentice, which is a little off-putting. And then there's the class system, which I hate with a vengeance anyway, but on a British Airways flight it is live and kicking and ready to annoy the hell out of me as I walk through the plane to my economy class seat, passing the cosseted comfort of those well off enough to fork out the extortionate price of a First or Business Class seat.

Rain at Heathrow

Fine, all planes have their own versions of First and Business Class, but it's the attitude of the cabin crew on a British Airways flight that makes it all worse. It's also a lot to do with the UK itself and how, perhaps, our 'flagship airline' reflects the country, which is on its knees morally and economically. The very thought of sitting in a capsule flying at 38,000 feet and basically being transported across the Atlantic in what amounts to a smaller version of 'our great nation' is just too much to bear. Somehow everything British is synchronizing and becoming one massive blob of depressive crap and in this case offloading moaning English people who have simply had enough and can't believe their luck, that they are getting out, albeit temporarily.

The good news was that I was flying Delta – a huge Airbus 330 jam-packed with American positivity where I sensed that the cabin crew were on my side for once. Sitting in seat 39A looking out on the rain drumming hard on the tarmac, I was glad that I was missing yesterday's Coronation of King Charles lll and all that unnecessary flag waving by overweight Brexiteers. I turned and spotted a couple of vacant seats on the other side of the plane, seats 38G and 38H. It was an exit row so there was plenty of much needed leg room and all I had to do was get up and take it as boarding was complete. I jumped up and waltzed across but before I could sit down I was told that it was an exit row and that I couldn't sit there. Disappointed, I skulked back to seat 39A and buckled up, but minutes later another member of the cabin crew – her name was Tia – came over and told me that I could sit there and that there had been some kind of misunderstanding. They thought, wrongly, that I was the dad of three kids sitting in the middle row of the plane. One of the kids had strayed over to my desired seat, seat 38H and when I went over there, knowing full well that the kid wasn't supposed to be there, they thought I was the dad and that I was trying to spread my family across the width of the plane. Anyway, thanks to Tia, I was allowed to sit by the window, in an exit seat, and enjoy the flight. And let me tell you, I enjoyed the flight immensely. For a start it was smooth all the way, even as we glided through the clouds over England and believe me it took a long time to break through to the blue skies above. I stretched out, I read Murakami's Novelist as a Vocation, I briefly listened to Transmission by Joy Division on my iphone and I enjoyed the inflight hospitality – chicken with pesto and vegetables, a wonderful salted caramel ice cream and later a delicious chocolate mousse, not forgetting two large glasses of orange juice and a couple of bottles of mineral water. 

Decent airline food courtesy of Delta

When Tia passed by I thanked her for allowing me to sit in seat 38H – and to commandeer seat 38G for all my stuff. I told her that, had I been flying British Airways, I would still have been sitting in seat 39A, I just know it. British Airways' cabin crew are like that, they're almost like British businessmen, they are short-sighted and reluctant to give anyone a break and would prefer those seats to be empty throughout the flight rather than have me sitting there enjoying myself. Had I remained in seat 39A I would have sat there in my leather jacket, my on-board briefcase stuffed under the seat in front of me, my two bottles of mineral water getting in the way, and I would have been most uncomfortable throughout. The flight would have been awful, I know that much, and had I needed to get up (as I did on numerous occasions) I would have been interrupting the person sitting in seat 39B. In short it would have been a nightmare and I would certainly not have arrived in Detroit feeling alive and happy as I did, thanks to having moved seats. I think from now on, if I can fly Delta, I will, because they're great, that's all there is to it.

Everything was a doddle. Immigration, normally a big hassle, was smooth. Baggage reclaim was fine too and then it was just a cab to Canada, yes, Canada. I'm staying over the river in Windsor, Ontario, and while that means showing my passport twice daily to customs officials it's better than staying in a cockroach-infested hotel in Detroit. 

And while we're on the subject of hotels, the DoubleTree by Hilton on Riverside Drive in Windsor is amazing. Hopefully I won't get some awful foot infection like I did last year in Pittsburgh and I put that down to the hotel which was the only place where my feet were exposed. Last night, just as a precaution, I kept my socks on.

Just landed at Detroit...

But what a great hotel. First, the check-in was fairly smooth, second, the room was amazing. It sports a huge (and I mean huge) flatscreen television, there's an interesting-looking shower, which I just know will be invigorating, a massive (and comfortable) double bed, a decent wardrobe and a wonderful view of the Detroit skyline across the river. Apparently, if I was on the Detroit side the view across to Windsor isn't as impressive. 

There's a pool and a gym and I might try and get some exercise, although I know what it's like at the event I'm attending on the Detroit side of the river and that means there won't be much time for keeping fit. Also, I need to buy a pair of trainers if I'm going to use the Peleton exercise bikes as I can't very well go down there in shorts and business shoes, I'll look ridiculous and I'd have to look ridiculous in the elevator too and I simply couldn't stomach the humiliation. Shorts and black leather shoes. Think of that for a moment. I would look and feel like a dork.

Last night, after a perfectly respectable pasta meal, I slept well, from around 1930hrs to just before 0500hrs – roughly nine hours – and now I'm considering hitting the showers and also having a shave, then it's breakfast on the second floor and a day wandering around and also getting over to the Detroit side of the river to engage in the process of work, albeit for a short while as the whole thing doesn't start until tomorrow.

I suppose the only downside to being on the Canadian side of the river is having to show passports twice a day to border officials. I'm guessing it'll be stricter on the US side, but I'm more concerned with the cost, which could be as much as $50 per trip, which will mount up. That said, we have purchased a Transit Windsor Smart Ride Card so it won't be anything like $50 a ride. Right, let's hit the showers!