It's High Time

Having had my much-wanted only child at the age of forty, I have never  been able to completely sever the umbilical cord between me and my daughter.   Because of that and thanks to the wonders of the internet, I always try to watch, whenever possible, her flights to and from this country, when she goes off on a jaunt. It gives me peace of mind to know her flight hasn't dive-bombed into the ocean or blown up on take-off. (I know, I know, I have a vivid imagination!) 

On Saturday Kay took off from Gatwick for a long-deserved holiday in the Mediterranean with her boyfriend.  I was up at the crack of dawn to monitor her flight from the Gatwick departures website. (After all, the plane would not be able to take off without my supervision.)

Forty minutes before departure... Boarding at Gate X.  

Then twenty minutes before departure.... Gate Closed. 

Then nothing.The time of departure came and went. Still nothing. I was mildly worried. Had they forgotten to pack the food? Could they not lock the doors?  

Half an hour later...Taxiing to runway. Ah good, she's ready to go.  

Then again nothing.  By now I was seriously concerned. Was the steering wheel short of a screw?   Was the wing falling off? A further half an hour later her flight finally left... a whole hour later than scheduled. Thankfully I was able to check she arrived at her destination airport safely only half an hour later than the scheduled time.

Meanwhile, around the same time Tim Peake arrived on earth bang on time to the very minute from the International Space station about 400 km away in space. There's got to be a lesson learned there somewhere.