Yesterday gave new meaning to the word "anti-climax". Although on a sobering note, having just heard about the space shuttle Columbia disaster, I wonder whether I should be fretting quite so much about not being able to board a plane that was grounded for my own safety?
Derek and I had been planning to celebrate our wedding anniversary in more style than usual. We'd arranged to spend the weekend in Oxford and go to a formal dinner with my daughter, currently reading maths and philosophy at University college. We've driven down many times, as we normally have to transport all her luggage there and back, but this time as Easyjet flights were so cheap (£6), we decided to treat ourselves by flying to Stanstead and catching the Jetlink bus to Oxford. We'd also found a two-for-the-price-of-one offer at the Holiday Inn and were looking forward to a weekend of pampering and luxury. We'd also both booked precious holiday from work.
We woke on Friday at 6 am to the sound of Paddy MacDee on the radio. It must have been one of the coldest mornings so far this winter. But not even the bitterly cold wind, combined with temperatures several degrees below freezing and a covering of snow on the roads could dampen our exitement at the thought of the next few days, as we were driven in the pitch dark to the airport by Philip. The early traffic news warned that the first flight to Heathrow had been cancelled, but that was OK, we were flying to Stansted ...
At the airport, there was chaos. Two British Airways flights had diverted from London to Newcastle and the place was full of people frantically trying to rebook tickets and make connections. However, Go-Easyjet were checking in, so we duly said goodbye to our luggage, received boarding passes and sat upstairs with a pot of coffee. Predictably the flight was delayed - however, by 9.30 am it went on indefinite delay and shortly afterwards, cancelled.
We joined a large queue of people to retrieve our luggage - apparently the problem was that the plane couldn't get up from Stansted, as airport staff were unable to get into work. The next flight, due to leave Newcastle at 11.45 am was full, in part due to to acccommodating passengers from flights cancelled the day before. I joined a very slow queue to find out about the possibility of flying down on the next BA plane - very quickly discarded as an option when I learned that there were only 4 seats left on the 7.30 pm flight and those were £163 each, one way.
By this time, passengers were starting to check in for the 11.45 am Easyjet flight, so we joined them, hoping there might be some no-shows and we'd get on as standbys. Of course, this plane was delayed too, but we could still have got down to Oxford in time for our dinner with Louise. The check-in closing time came and went, and as only apparently half the passengers had turned up, it was extended by half an hour. We were told to just "hang around", something we were starting to get very used to.
Then we were called over and informed that all the standby passengers would get on the flight, which was delayed, but preparing to come up from Stansted where passengers were currently checking in. So we exitedly handed over our luggage once again, received new boarding passes and I started phoning and texting people to say we were on our way.
Then came the inevitable "indefinite delay" followed by cancellation. Once more, we stood in a long queue to retrieve our luggage and at that point, decided to call it a day and go home! So far, the day had cost us around £25, £5 to Philip for taking us to the airport, £10 back home in a taxi, coffee, biscuits and mobile phone calls.
Back in the house, we had to make some decisions. Derek was all for jumping in the car and driving down, but it was becoming apparent that road conditions in the south were appalling and more snow was forecast. At best, driving would have been an unpredicatable strain, not the relaxing weekend we'd planned. We first of all had to reach Louise and let her cancel the dinner, then hopefully she wouldn't be charged for it by the university. We briefly considered trying to fly down on the Saturday, but abandoned that idea after seeing pictures of Stansted airport on television.
I think I spent the next 6 hours on the phone and the internet, trying to rebook, rearrange and reorganise various sections of the weekend. It's not unusual for me to spend 6 hours connected to the internet, but I'm generally doing something more interesting than looking at bus and plane timetables and prices! It didn't help that neither of the two numbers Easyjet had given us turned out to be relevant to our situation - but of course you don't find that out until you've waited in a phone queue for around 20 minutes.
First, I had to find out what line the Holiday Inn were going to take regarding our cancelled room. This had been paid for in advance, and as it was part of a special offer, they were under no obligation to refund my money or give us another weekend. In fact, they were very reasonable and although I got slightly different versions from each of the 3 people I spoke to, they were willing in principle to give us another two nights as long as it was before the middle of March. Next was a phone call to Sandra, to find out whether it would be OK to have another day's holiday in the next week or so - a formality, but still a necessary phone call. Derek had to arrange another week, as his working hours include weekends, but fortunately he had holiday to spare.
Then I had to rebook flights. This was a bit difficult, as there were no longer any cheap Easyjet flights, and flying to Heathrow with BA was prohibitively expensive if we went Friday to Sunday. In the end, as there wasn't much in it, we decided to fly British Airways and go Saturday to Monday. Not only had we both gone off Easyjet to some extent, but Heathrow is nearer to Oxford and the coach journey, much shorter.
Then I had to sort out the bus. National Express would be willing to refund Friday's journey, but would only give a full refund if Sunday was also cancelled. I'm still waiting to find out that information, but organised sending back the e-ticket and covering letter. I then tried to book suitable buses from Heathrow and Oxford over the internet. For some reason, GoByCoach appeared to be running just one bus on Saturday and one on the Monday, at the strange times of 23.59 and 04.35. Refreshing this information continued to produce the same results, so I queued on the phone to speak to a real person. The guy I spoke to got exactly the same information as me, so I ended up booking over the phone. In fact, Jetlink buses run every half hour, but it's reassuring to know that their website accurately reflected the shambles of a service they were offering that day. According to their updates, 3 coaches were stuck on the M11 from the night before and another bus was stranded somewhere else, all full of passengers!
Of course, none of these travelling/hotel arrangements could be confirmed until the whole weekend had been coordinated, and on average, it took 3 phone calls to each service before I had definite bookings. The first time I thought everything was set up happened to be the one weekend the Holiday Inn had no room, then a possible weekend had to wait until I could rearrange something fairly important I was meant to be doing in Newcastle. Finally, I needed to speak to Louise and determine that she would be free for another formal dinner. Frustratingly, she didn't seem to be in her room, so I rang her mobile, only to discover she was in her room, but on investigation, the ringer was turned off on her phone. Still I got no answer, until another call to her mobile revealed that I was actually dialling the wrong extension!
The final step was filling in an online claim form for the Easyjet flights, while Derek took the opportunity to renew my car tax, pick up Emily from School and organise some tea. Then I had to lug my suitcase upstairs and begin the job of unpacking, while I tried to work out what to do with the wasted weekend. Deciding I might as well go to choir practice, I set off in the car for Jesmond. It was snowing heavily and St Georges looked unusually quiet. Guess what? Choir practice had been cancelled!
1st February 2003