Time rolls round quickly. A year after booking, Seattle was nearly upon us. You have to book early to bag the Avíos flights. 700 English pounds there and back, business class one way, PE the other, can’t be bad. Naturally I was working right up to it. You don’t waste annual leave.
Mark struggles with leave in his new job. Lack of tenure you see.
It was therefore with a degree of trepidation that I learnt he had booked only half of departure day off. Finish at lunchtime. I know what he’s like with planning and preparation. We were leaving at 16.15. Mum taxi booked. Train an hour later. You’re going to sort stuff out at the weekend right? Oh yes.
I’d gently assembled my holiday stuff in the preceding days, around a few exhausting late shifts, one of 15hrs. Not a record, but enough. Tuesday morning, the car was dropped off for some expensive surgery whilst we were away. Don’t say the M word, she is a marvellous machine and when my prime replacement option was a sizeable loan for a leggy fricking Nissan Leaf you’ll understand why I’m ploughing a little bit of money into the 3l, RWD, old girl.
Car deposited, after a restorative nap, I set off to work in the evening. Sorting your stuff out Marky? Oh yeah, no worries. Nearly there. Wednesday morning, I managed a little flyer, leaving work at 5am rather than 7 to claw a little day back. Perfect.
Up at 12 after a full luxurious 6hrs sleep, I was somewhat alarmed to still see piles of clothes EVERYWHERE and a partner up to his eyes in earnest videocalls.This wasn’t packed. This wasn’t by any means ready. Mark, when IS your last call? 4pm. Right. That’s 15 minutes before we have to leave. Ok. Everything is fine.
Then there’s the haircut. There’s always the haircut. Despite having very resilient Lego hair, he hates it too long. A persnickety thing. We all have them. His next statement had me silently counting backwards from 10 instead of exploding in a shower of fucks. “I’ll see if the barbers can fit me in” WHEN? We have been here before. I’ve learnt to smile and wave, and hope the impulse passes. See also “An hour and a half before boarding at Gatwick”.
It did. He finally conceded that there would be barbers in America.
I was therefore fairly impressed when a packed hold bag suddenly appeared in the hallway at 3pm, followed by Mark shortly after 4pm. The only slight anomaly a checked shirt he definitely wasn’t going to wear placed on top of it. I have to admit that I was awestruck at the last minute flourish. We are definitely making progress here, every other foreign holiday thus far has involved a stop en route at an Amazon locker because everyone needs last minute holiday t-shirts, right?
Premier Inn T4 for the night. Does all the basics fine, and it’s ‘in’ the terminal. If you count being at the end of a mile long odd elevated walkway as in the terminal. In hindsight I worked out that, after faffing round with a change on the Lizzie line to get to T5 it’s probably just quicker to get a cab…outside. But I secretly quite like the tunnel.
Getting to the airport the evening before is just the right thing to do. You’re relaxed, you’re where you need to be. And you can’t argue with the 30 quid meal deal.
Flight was pleasant enough. BA Premium Economy gives you a bit more room, service is good, but that’s about the extent of it. Both of us felt that Scandinavian was a far superior option, although this obviously includes the faff of a hop up to Sweden!
We had a slight seat disaster, having booked 20A and B but then an aircraft change meant that, instead of being lovely roomy bulkhead seats they were right in the middle of the great unwashed. To their favour though BA played a blinder, onboard crew were genuinely helpful with it, sending an onboard report which, by the time we landed, had resulted in email confirmation of a refunded seat fee. Mustn’t grumble.
Arrival into Seattle was pretty straightforward, other than the exceptionally long walk where you need to go, and probably the highest escalator I’ve ever been on taking you on a bizarre bridge over a taxiway. I’m sure there’s a song about not going under it, or something…
CBP was particularly intrusive and questioning this time, seemed like a distinct change in tone, but that’s what you seemingly get everywhere. A more suspicious world… We survived the interrogation and taught the border officer a new word of “cohabiting” for the day.
Onwards, then, to a new adventure in Seattle. Where’s that cheap light rail?
loquitohermoso 
Leave a comment