The Landing’s the Thing

San Diego is a long way from Maidstone. I know this. I am not a total idiot, despite the fact that geography isn’t my strong suit. The husband has been before. It takes some time for him to get there.

It was all going terribly well when I got a text to say that the husband had been upgraded to business class. I don’t know how he manages it, but this wasn’t the first time the kindness had been extended to him. It just makes the journey a little easier, and we’re all grateful for that. That was at around 11am, about three hours after he left home.

Eleven hours later, the husband was stuck in Texas, stuck in queues, stuck in bad weather, stuck in an airport... He was stuck.

Can I just say, the Texas Hub is a bloody nightmare; avoid it, if you can. Just as this wasn’t the first occasion when the husband was upgraded on a flight, this was also not the first occasion when the husband was stranded at the bloody Texas Hub.

It’s not that I worry or anything; after all, there’s absolutely bugger all I can do about it, but by this point I was about ready to go to bed, and I couldn’t. I never sleep terribly well the night before the husband embarks on a long trip, and I don’t sleep terribly well in an otherwise empty bed. I never sleep until I know he’s on the ground. The landing’s the thing.

I don’t, as a rule, ring or text the husband. He’s a much busier person than I am, so I don’t disturb him, assuming that things will go faster and easier if he’s left to get on with them. The husband calls or texts me. It got to five-thirty in the morning, though, and I hadn’t slept in nearly twenty-two hours, and I knew that either the husband was still on the ground in Texas or he was in the air over the western USA, and I knew I couldn’t do anything about it.

We have code for stuff, the husband and I; it saves time and energy. So, I sent him the usual couple of question marks, which means, ‘let me know when you get the chance’.

The plane finally touched down in San Diego at six-thirty-two, and, of course, he texted, but the husband didn’t arrive at his hotel and call for a chat until after eight o’clock. 

It’s bad enough that I didn’t sleep for twenty-four hours; it’s worse that the husband had to drag his butt halfway around the World, adjust his epilepsy meds and sit in an airport in Texas while a storm played out around him for several hours. Now, I have to get on with my day. I’m just thankful that his twenty-four hours ended at midnight, local time, so, with a bit of luck, he should get a decent night’s sleep before he starts his Wednesday. I do hope so, because he’s going to be a very busy man for the next few days.