… that it’s Saturday 13th rather than Friday 13th, because Heaven alone knows what might have gone wrong then.
The flight was reasonable – nothing remarkable at all – but I’m a very bad traveller and find it very difficult to sleep on board an aeroplane. This journey was no exception at all.
I was wasted by the time that I arrived at Charles de Gaulle airport and I wasn’t very comfortable making my way from the airport across Paris for the train to Riom.
And we waited. And waited. And waited.
First of all there had been the engineering works that were slowing everything down.
Secondly, there had been a locomotive failure down the line. It was all happening today.
All in all, by the time that I reached Riom it was not too far short of midnight. Only three and a half hours late.
Instead of going straight home (which was a silly idea anyway at this time of night) Terry ran me back to their house and Liz put me up in the spare bedroom and that was that.
