Waiting game

There's some variant of Sod's law that governs my son Ben and air travel. Last year his flight from Gatwick - charters generally fly from Gatwick, the London airport that is nowhere near London - was changed to Stanstead - London's joke airport. Now Gatwick is easily doable by train, Stanstead is a bugger to get to by any means although the airline were willing to meet people at Gatwick and shuttle them.
When his dad finally got him there, he was told that the passengers were all being taken up to Manchester, because that's where the plane was. When they got to Manchester they waited and waited and were then all put in an hotel for the night. Ben finally arrived after a 24 hour delay.

I was supposed to be meeting Ben at YVR this morning at 9.35. But he was delivered to Gatwick - remember London's airport that...yep, anyway, by Matt, his sister's boyfriend. The flight had been changed from it's original time of something sensible o'clock to 5 am. Very droll. Matt got him there for check-in at 3. He then had to wait until in fact 11 when the flight took off because there was an unforeseen delay. We don't yet know what caused that. He also of course has to clear immigration today, so.... watch this space.

The girls meanwhile have gone off to Vancouver island. I took them to Tsawassen this morning to catch the ferry at far-too-early o'clock, though of course in the middle of rush hour so that Simmi's tortoise could have crawled to the George Massey tunnel more quickly than we did.

Ah well. Britain is due some rain but we're due some serious hell-like temperatures at the weekend. I do like a good thunderstorm, me, but they are in short supply here sadly.

Blah! As the girls would say.