I soaked up my last bit of sunshine on Sunday morning, eating breakfast on the terrace of the UK pavilion, right on the beach. Then, after a meeting about The Black Donald, it was off to the station to begin my journey home.
This time the train deigned to arrive, and before long I found myself in the small international departure lounge at Nice Airport. And there I stayed for a good three hours or so. This was somewhat worrying, since all the indications were that London’s airports would close at 7pm due to The Return of the Ashcloud; thus, a ticking clock was imposed upon the situation, in true cinematic style.
When Easyjet finally announced the revised departure time, we were given UKP4 food vouchers by way of compensation. Even if the lounge had been blessed with a dazzling array of mouth-watering eateries, this gift would have been on a par with another knitted sweater from gran, but since the only food outlet was a ‘Bar du Monde’, with less options than a BNP ethnic monitoring form, it seemed downright rude. The one saving grace was the airport’s free wifi, which at least allowed me to update my nearest and dearest via the medium of Skype, not to mention searching the interweb for more information than that which Easyjet had provided (which was none). It was not until we had actually boarded the flight that we were informed of the reason for the delay, which had no connection whatsoever to the ash cloud, but was in fact a technical failure on the original plane at Gatwick.
Alas, even once in the air, the ticking clock was not silenced for me, as I was now in a race against time to catch the last train from Gatwick back to Hairy Ford. Ten minutes before the departure of this train, I was still waiting for my suitcase to emerge from the Underworld onto the Carousel of Enlightenment. Miraculously, out it came, and I reached the railway platform in time. Thank heavens for the modest size of Gatwick; such a feat could never have succeeded in the endless miles of Heathrow’s corridors.
A little after midnight, I arrived home, reflecting sleepily on the fact that I was one of the lucky ones again, having reached my destination with only a few hours’ delay. And so ends Cannes 2010 for me.