Something went wrong along the way

Something always goes wrong along the way on your journeys, you might be thinking. You may be right, of course.

There were those flights from Glasgow to London, back in the day, when we couldnt take off because of snow and then, when we did, couldnt land because of snow the other end.

There was, of course, my first solo trip on public transport, more than 20 years ago, when the lady in front of me carked it half way to Middlesbrough (in retrospect, she had a point).

Oh, then that other coach trip, when someone wanked at me halfway from Glasgow to Tarbet. No no. Wanked.

There was that holiday to Sri Lanka where we narrowly avoided missing our flight, while sitting for three hours in the airport, waiting, as we were, for a flight that didnt exist (we may have written it down wrong. We realised six minutes before check-in closed).

Then there was that trip to Marseille – a suicide in front of the tracks that stopped all trains on the line to Gatwick – a dash to the express train leaving from the other side of London, only to find that contrary to information, it wasnt running either, a wait, a panic, and a discovery that all the computer systems had gone down at the departure airport, and everyone was delayed anyway.

Nice – I didnt mention this, I dont think I arrived, extremely early as always, at the airport, to find that the flight I was booked onto had departed Wait for it TWO DAYS before I got there. After almost an hour of No seats? None at all?, the airline realised it was not my extreme tardiness, but the error of their press office – and suddenly discovered a seat on my originally requested (and arrived for) flight.

So, you know, you might have a point when you say that something always seems to go wrong whenever I decide to travel.

And the funny thing is, I was thinking that exact thing myself, on the train this morning, rather smugly, when I realised everything was, for once, going to plan! Yay!

And that set me thinking. Perhaps everything wasnt going to plan. You know what would be the funniest thing? If I was actually going In Completely the Wrong Direction.

Within an hour, of course, I realised that I happned to be going in the wrong direction. That instead of almost in Rome, the city from which I was due to fly in a short matter of hours, I was almost in Florence – a very nice city, to be sure, but not one I had planned on visiting on the way, and perhaps 200 miles from where I, at the moment, wanted to be.

Italy lovely though. Apart from the whole worst day ever thing. But before that? Beautiful. Fabulous. Gorgeous. Lets all move to Umbria.