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| 4 generations |
Aunty Rose's 80th birthday celebration brought me to England this weekend for my first trip sans boys.
The weekend, despite coming at the end of 2 weeks of reunions of various branches of the extended family in different countries, was a wonderful catch up plus meet and greet with yet more family.
British airport security however, is the stupidest in the world. Even in Manchester, where the accent can't help them sound friendly. And they were terrifically polite, even while they told me that all my liquids had to fit in one of their teeny-tiny plastic bags, which are about half the size of the ones found in Edinburgh airport. Hmm, maybe that's telling. In any case, I had to check-in my luggage, which was a faff but didn't cost me anything.
It did also mean that as I was travelling alone, I could use the automated border control in Paris Charles de Gaulle airport, thereby skipping the queues and giving me even longer to wait until my luggage finally appeared.
And if British airport security is the stupidest in the world, then Parisian customer service is the most dire. It took me 2.5 hours to get home from the airport, in a 'super shuttle' which operates much like a taxi service but with multiple central Paris destinations. Yes, we even took one of the 'greeters' to her car in the staff car park en route.
It took me around 12 hours from leaving Newcastle-under-Lyme to get home, but seeing the relief on El Puma's face when I got back made it all worth it. Apparently looking full-time after a toddler is 'hard work'.
