There but for the grace of God goes my luggage…
In all my travels I’ve only ever been separated from my suitcase once. I’d been upgraded, too. It was like someone was telling me I wasn’t meant to turn left.
As my EasyJet flight pushed back from the stand – only 40 mins late – at Nice airport today, I heard someone on the row behind say, “Look, the bloke just drove off and left those bags on the ground.”
I pulled my nose out of my book and looked out. Hmm. One of them appeared to be mine…
After finally getting to the front of a passport queue that seemed to start in Cornwall (never mind, there’s a couple more years to sort Gatwick out before the Olympics roll around), I arrived without optimism in the baggage hall. Miraculously, there was my case.
So, a happy ending for me – but let’s raise a glass tonight for those poor folk whose dirty laundry is still sitting on the Tarmac…