Last Friday I was in London – I had spent the evening before in the audience of the Graham Norton show.
He’s even slicker during the recording. Note – he has one glass of wine during the show and allowed Girls Aloud do their song a second time (Kimberly had smudged her deep pink lipstick mid song!).
So, after a great day of sauntering around Harrods and other London stores it was time to head off to Heathrow for the short flight home. We were due to land in Dublin at 8 pm. Loads of time get home, grab a shower, get into PJs and watch The Late Late Show in bed.
After we checked in, I noticed on the screen that we were delayed by half an hour. No problem. We decided to have a ham and cheese toastie and glass of wine. Checked the screen again and saw that we were now an hour delayed. Wasn’t too bothered, these things happen and arriving home at 9 pm was ok too.
Each time we checked the screen we were delayed longer and longer. All other Dublin flights going out ahead of ours on time so we presumed there was something wrong with our plane. But no one had a clue what was wrong – no announcement, no staff to ask questions to.
At this stage, the bar and shops were closing, so no more wine to ease the boredom. But still no info either. In the age where information travels so fast, and airlines have your email address and mobile number its ridiculous that NO information was passed on to any of their passengers.
When the screen eventually threw up the words we had waited to see all night “go to gate” we all ran there.
The first girl we saw in an Aer Lingus uniform was at the boarding gate… with a few people who were demanding answers. She seemed as annoyed as the passengers but offered no answers or apologies.
I was just happy to be on my way home – at this point I’d spent about six and a half hours sitting in Heathrow Airport!
The journey home was one of the most interesting. I sat beside a 13-year-old boy who was returning home for his Christmas holidays from boarding school.
He was the most polite, friendly, mannerly, intelligent young man. We chatted about Christmas, of course, and then the conversation moved on to what he wanted to be when he grew up. He told me most definitely that he wanted to become a priest.
I have to be honest, I was (and still am) shocked. Most kids his age would say “a fireman”, “a footballer”, or whatever their dad does. But he was very sure and said he had always wanted to be one and would do so when the time was right. I didn’t know what to say, so all I said was: “Oh, good luck with that!”
Looking back now I really wish I hadn’t been so speechless and had more to say to the incredible young man. I’m blaming the fact that I was tired and emotional – we eventually arrived in at 1 am, and I do not have the patience of a saint… or the young priest…
