Outward Flights
Last night, while we were finishing off packing, Debbie asked me "Do you know where your driving licence is?"
"Yes, it's in my wallet"
"Do you want me to look after it?"
"No, it'll be fine."
So we left it at that. At around 4 a.m. I suddenly realised I might need not only the credit card sized portion of the licence, but also its paper counterpart. In the morning, I looked everywhere and couldn't find it. Debbie made it clear that if she ends up doing all the driving, she is deciding where we go. We'll have to see whether the car hire people will allow themselves to be fobbed off with half a licence (I'm guessing they will).
On the M40, heading South we saw a 90, prompting much joy.
Checking in at Gatwick couldn't have been easier, even though we were selected for a baggage search. This was quite a surprise, since last time we checked in at Gatwick it was hell on earth. Before long we were on the North West Airlines plane, surrounded by ever so slightly grating teenagers from Denver Colorado. I was slightly taken aback that everything was labelled "NWA", since the first expansion of that acronym that springs to my mind is Dr. Dre's early 90s gangsta rap band, Niggaz With Attitude.
One of the slightly grating teenagers, who must have been at least 14, was colouring in Disney pictures with coloured pencils. She was staying inside the lines beautifully, but I found it rather an odd thing to do, especially in public. When she wasn't colouring in, she was reading an Anne Rice novel...
Debbie was particularly taken with an item in the "Sky Mall" catalogue: an upholstered ramp that allows decrepit pets the independence to climb onto sofas, beds or laps under their own steam.
We landed in Detroit in good time, but were delayed by customs, who made us all remain seated, then escorted one man from the plane. We don't know what was going on.
In Detroit, we had to take our baggage through customs, then return it to the airline. We also had to pass through security again. After my hand luggage had gone through the X-Ray, they decided to search my bag.
"Have you packed any scissors?" asked the nice security lady.
"No." I replied, "or at least, if I did, it wasn't on purpose.
After working her way through every pocket in my laptop bag, she eventually withdrew a pair of 8 inch scissors, recognisably ours. Remember, this hand luggage had already made it through a transatlantic flight. I apologised profusely and declined their offer to reunite me with the scissors at the end of our connecting flight.
