So it was back to the car and yet another decision as to which route to follow. I fear it was my choice which may have led to yet another problem - more traffic!! N phoned the airport and pleaded with them to hold the arrivals gate open. Our driver performed some amazing and astonishing manoeuvres on (and off) the road in his attempt to get rid of us for three weeks. Did I see desperation in his eyes.?? Well I saw something - and I will keep his deep, dark secret forever in my mind, unless, of course, someone crosses my palm with silver. My lips are sealed Mr S !!
With three minutes to spare, we screeched into the car park. Once again, A sprinted ahead, doing a fine impersonation of Usain Bolt. This time, I managed to break the world record for the 800 metre dash for the ladies of a certain age with damaged Achilles. We reached the gate with 30 seconds to spare. The attendant looked at her watch, smiled and said 'Oh, you made it then!'
Yes, we made it and congratulations had to go to Mr S for his steering technique and Mr C for his navigation prowess in the final moments of the journey. Without further ado, we bid the male contingent a swift, but fond, farewell. They both looked relieved to see us ascending the moving staircase. Our gate was open and we didn't have to wait long before boarding.