Random irrelevant picture just because I can – picture credit Jo Rutherford

Reassuringly, this time, the holiday account actually does begin on day 1 as this is all our own doing and we don’t have to fit in with the itinerary of an organised tour. Having been too mean, or indeed too sensible, to pay £25 per person per flight (of which there are three each way) to reserve seats in advance, I had planned to check in at 9.15pm, when I had been advised I could choose seats free of charge. We really didn’t want to spend a total of twenty four flying hours sat in different parts of the plane. So what was I doing at the witching hour? I was distracted by the compelling weirdness that is the Eurovision Song Contest. So mesmerised was I by the warbling and chicken impressions of the eventual winner that it was 6.15am before I remembered. I hastened to the computer to see if there were any adjacent seats left and successfully secured us positions that did not mean our escape was blocked by an unsuspecting and knowing our luck, immovable, fellow passenger. This did involve telephoning my travelling companion at what he clearly thought was an unearthly hour to ascertain his passport number. To be fair, he would normally not be troubled by a call at this time of the day but he is recovering from some lurgy at present. I am keeping everything crossed that I am not incubating a similar ailment but hopefully the moment of infectiousness has passed.

Fortunately, it is sunny for my ‘waiting at the coach stop an hour before the coach is due to leave’ stint. For those who are unfamiliar with the tales of our travels, this is to allow my travelling companion time to drive the car home and walk back down to the departure point, where I am surrounded by mountains of luggage. This time, our luggage pile is of gigantic proportions as we are travelling with seventeenth century clothing and surgical instruments – roll on customs and security when we get to New Zealand! We have checked that knives and axes are not going to cause Qantas any alarums and have been reassured that, as long as they don’t contain any batteries, we are fine. We did explain the lack of batteries in the seventeenth century. As an aside, am I alone in being disconcerted that Qantas does not contain a U? I assume it is an acronym but it is just wrong! The good Master’s seventeenth century hat does not fit in his bags without danger of crushing, so he is wearing it. This he might be able to carry off in winter but it does not quite sit well with a summer’s day. Still, it will be winter by the time we arrive.

My wait is enlivened by the fact that it is on the route of the Bideford 10k charity race, so various lycra clad bodies, in varying states of fitness, bob past. All credit to them; the 5k ‘Race’ for Life is about my limit. They are going past in both directions so either some are lost, or the route retraces itself. Unlike Race for Life, most participants seem to be under fifty but perhaps the more mature continent just haven’t got this far yet. It turns out that all this to-ing and fro-ing was merely warming up and the race proper begins. I am now panicking that the road will be closed and the coach will stop in an undisclosed location instead of where I am sat patiently waiting. Even if the alternative location were to be revealled, we are unable to wheel/carry all our belongings unaided.

After an uneventful coach trip, on a coach that stopped where expected, we arrive at Heathrow and avail ourselves of all day breakfasts. My companion realises that he has inadvertently left his flask on the coach and I am relieved of some very expensive insect repellent that I failed to classify as a liquid. One of our party set the bleeper off and had to be frisked; allegedly it was his shoe laces??? Skulking away like criminals we head for the lounge. My computer will not connect to the airport wifi. I crave the assistance of two twelve year olds on the information counter who do at least look like they know one end of a computer from another. It turns out that they do but not it seems this computer. They hum and haw and try everything I’ve already tried to no avail. They try it several times. It seems they have never seen the like. We finally try that age old solution, turning it off and turning it on again – eureka and thus I am able to bring the epistle to my eagerly awaiting public – all one of you.