Escape from USA; starring Bridgjo

So it was bridgjo's turn to get across to Blighty at the week-end. It was fortunate, in a way, that we are almost royal in the way we'd decided to travel separately, as it made his journey less difficult than it may well have been.

He arrived at the airport on Friday and was told that his flight was cancelled as snow-bound Amsterdam was closed, but, no worries, he could travel the next day via Atlanta/Schipol/Teesside.

So the next day, he optimistically set off, and had got as far as Atlanta when he was told that Schipol was closed (as they were refusing passengers other than those who were not going on a connecting flight (ie Dutch people only, presumably)), but he could get to Teesside (possibley) on the 23rd.

He'd naturally checked all his bags through and was stuck in an airport which was rapidly becoming a little bit truculent.

He tried (with alternating success) to persuade them that he was quite happy just to go to Amsterdam, thinking maybe he could get a ferry across, or, maybe, by this time, fashion a small dirigible out of discarded drinks bottles. But although one desk said yes, another said no, and yet another said "Have you tried this airport cheese?", he had no luck.

Luckily, due to his Northern grace and charm, he managed to get on a stand-by flight to Manchester.

All around him though, people were in tears, starting to lose their tempers (and in one case, losing their passport).

He then had to rugby-tackle a few old people out of the way when the stand-by list was opened, and finally managed to get himself a seat.

By the time he got to Manchester, he phoned me up at my parents in Stoke and insisted, quite manfully, we met him there. I felt quite giddy.

It was a surprisingly rubbish trip up by train. Although we had first class tickets (this was so I'd be surrounded by a better class of people when I travelled up by myself with T), it was basically second class with a the 2 crossed out in biro and a 1 written in. I am never too impressed when I have to clean the toilets myself before use. Furthermore (FURTHERMORE!) there is only one first class lounge at Manchester Piccadilly...and it belongs to Virgin which refused us "cheap-seat Trans-Penine losers" entrance. Luckily, I had yummy-mummy-made Christmas cake and water which I had knicked from the lounge in Stoke, so the journey just flew by.

By the time bridgjo got to his home, and he was seated, washed, fed and clothed in his dad's pants, he gave a audible sigh of relief.

No sign of his suitcase, though it might even make it before we leave. In case you ever need to know, it is actually quite possible to go on holiday with the clothes you stand up in (as long as those clothes include two pairs of knickers). Even Whitby sells socks.

Hats off to Delta for getting us all here though, and struggling to get our bags to us. They deserve a mince-pie.

It is the coldest I have ever experienced in Whitby without there being an enormous Easterly gale of the variety which causes locals to mutter "Yes, it's 32 degrees centigrade, but it's minus 6 wind-chill". It's been minus 11, which caused my chilblains, which haven't been around since I was a student and going to night-clubs in high-heels, to wake-up and say "Ey-up".

The next-door neighbour came round quite early on asking for hot water to unfreeze the out-door toilet as he has a burst pipe, and needs to find out where it is (suspecting it's somewhere under the concrete floor there). So he's had to turn his water off.

Hilariously, the gas men came round to the street outside to check on a gas-leak, didn't tell anybody, and turned it off and on. Unfortunately, Marnie's boiler is teenager-like and has buggered off to its room to sulk...so we have no heating as it refuses to come out and turn on.

No mince-pie then for British Gas.

Where's the Christmas Pot Noodle?

The traditional day-out on my arrival in Stoke is to go to the local Tesco's and to stand around like a refugee in front of the twenty-seven varieties of crisps.

The journey here was not quite so enjoyable. We had an extraordinarily rabid snow-storm on the Saturday. When English people say "And it was 2 feet deep, and minus 30 degrees", they tend to be exaggerating. This was actually IT. In spite of this, the snow-ploughs still managed to come out about three times even in our 2 house cul-de-sac. So off we trotted to the airport, having checked the Internet just before leaving. I breathed a sigh of relief when we arrived, as it seemed truly hazardous and I didn't fancy the trip back (I helped by pressing the brake-pedal from my side of the car all the way).

It took us however, an hour, rather than 10 minutes, and five minutes after the bags were checked in, the airport was closed. This is very unusual indeed, and means that the snow we were experiencing was a tad more than they get at Manchester. This meant of course, that we had to drive all the way back home.....where we discovered the heating had broken down.

We went to bed early and talked about the necessity of eating each other the next morning if one of us made it.

Delta was lovely and booked us on the same flight the following day and promised our bags would be waiting for us (hah!).

T and I were flying by ourselves, and were very happy indeed to discover we were going to get 4 seats in a row. It's the small things, as shortly afterwards T decided to mark each passing 20 mins for 7 hours by throwing up. At least I didn't have to apologise to anyone about leaky sick-bags and misfires.

And, no, the bags weren't there, but this had the advantage that I didn't have to cart anything about. Unfortunately, T's penicillin was in there, and, of course, all the knickers. So, on the way home we had to nip to the doctor's for a prescription (which they actually did without seeing her!), and then off to Tesco's for an Emergency Knicker Run. Delta, who are, quite frankly, ace, have said they'll reimburse us.

Today we went to Gladstone Pottery just so that I could show T where I used to spend Saturday mornings when I was 10. I think she thinks I helped out the sagger-maker's bottom-knocker (that happened much later on....), but still had great fun making a china rose, throwing a bowl and painting a hedge-hog. Reckoned I should show her her heritage before the last of the factories closed (unless they have done already).

Tomorrow we shall see monkeys.

'Tis the season to pack emergency chocolate

The long-term weather forecast is always a little bit hit-and-miss here. Last week it was to be sunny on Saturday, then windy, then over-cast, and by yesterday an unseasonable flurry of wildebeest falling over the NW Metropolitan area was expected. Now they are saying 100% snowy precipitation just roundabout the time we're planning to take off. As Amsterdam and Manchester are in much of the same boat (although without the wildebeest), I personally forecast an eventful journey full of Bach's Flower Remedy, Christmas cake and Whale music piped through MP3 players. My hand-luggage will contain an abundance of food, a blanket and spare thermals.

This last week has been hectic with last-minute preparations, particularly as we'll be meeting bridgjo later on in the holiday up in Whitby. This means I actually have to be On the Ball (and not running off to hide in the airport coffee shop).

I've been also trying sort out speech therapy for T. She was a paper waiting to be written, when she never babbled as a bairn, and then only started talking when she was about two-and-a-half. Now, naturally, there are a few sounds she has difficulty with, namely "s" and "th". We have to make appointments for a Speech Therapist for her now, as leaving it too late would result in her having to make the phone-call herself, and then irony would ensue. She also has developed just the one sound which is obviously American - '-ar'. As she normally talks with an English accent, it's then rather alarming to be faced with a seven year-old yelling "Come on! Get into the car!"; she sounds like a rather irate, small pirate.

Alas sorting out the threrapy is tricky due to complex insurance issues. I have given up, and will try again once I have located the bottle-opener.