Returning from a gorgeous and most enjoyable week in Tenerife, our Aer Lingus flight landed safely in Dublin Airport.

From thence on, it was madness and chaos. (and that was only the boss).

As the aircraft came to a halt, people began scrambling to the overhead lockers for their hand luggage. Hubby didn't move although we were in Row 3 from the front and could make a quick exit, bearing in mind that we were shortly catching a coach to Belfast. I waited patiently, as the boss is no fool and I knew he would have a reason for the delaying tactics. However, eventually even I was becoming impatient as the passengers, one by one, exited. I looked at the boss, he looked back. He tells me that we'll wait until everyone has disembarked (maybe that's the term you use for a ship). Mauri, HELP. He confides that our hand luggage is further down the plane and he doesn't want to push past the oncoming "traffic" to reach it. Just as my eyes widen, and I'm ready to meet all oncomers, (the Leamington mentality) my daughter, who is in Row 2, and sees the problem, makes to push her way down and retrieve our luggage. Her luggage was at her feet so she was ok. The boss and she got into an altercation, she insisting she was going to get the luggage, the boss just as adamantly declaring that he was on a "sit down protest". There were raised voices and I could see people looking, in particular our PP who was on the flight. I tried to smile as nicely as I could and pretend nothing was wrong. Daughter and family by this time, seeing they were doing no good, got off the plane. I said nothing.

Now, I should add that our winter clothes were in the hand luggage. We intended, on reaching Dublin, and while still inside the plane, to don our warm jumpers, woollen scarves and coats to face the sub-zero temps in Ireland after sunny Tenerife.

When the plane was nearly empty, and after the PP had offered to help, which the boss stubbornly refused, we retrieved our hand luggage. The boss made his way up towards the EXIT, with both our hand luggage; a few people got in front of me, and then I made my way to the exit also, expecting to find the boss, luggage, warm clothes within and put these on.

I reached the front of the aircraft - no hubby. I was puzzled but smiled nicely at the crew, thanked them, and braved the winter weather in a shoestring top and white linen "spit through" jacket. I cannot say I felt cold but that's because I very rarely feel cold.

Followed other passengers to the terminal. Arrived inside, no boss around. Everyone made for Passport Control and went through. There was no-one around in the whole terminal except moi. I thought to myself "Has the boss actually gone through Passport Control with my passport on him"? I approached a, if I say it myself, very gorgeous looking passport controller. Told him that I seemed to have lost my husband. He smiled and said. "You don't look particularly worried". I confessed that I wasn't (although I really was). Just then, I looked around and there was the boss, with the two pieces of hand luggage. I went over, "Where did you go?", I hissed.

Would you believe it? He had gone to the front of the aircraft (remember we were separated by other passengers?) went behind the stewardess's curtain and donned his winter jumper and coat, giving me no indication of his whereabouts. I knew there was no point in starting a row, although I very easily could have been persuaded to.

Worse was to come.

We, with the help of our daughter, caught the Belfast Coach which would leave us off at Sprucefield. (Daughter, husband and Rachel were travelling by car. )Eldest son would be there to drive us home. With the rush to catch the coach, we had neither a chance to buy a drink nor even a bag of crisps. No problem really. I looked forward to a nice cup of tea at home and a round of hot toast slathered in butter, and then our own wee bed.

As we approached Lisburn, I donned my winter coat, woollen scarf and leather gloves, reading for getting off the bus. We arrived at the familiar roundabout at M & S and I looked forward to alighting. However, the bus whizzed past Sprucefield and commenced onto the M1 for Belfast. I looked at the boss, "We've passed Lisburn", I says. He scrambled out of his seat, ran up the corridor in the bus, swaying this way and that, (he reminded me of Victor Meldrew) ("One foot in the Grave")


He waved and shouted at the driver, "Stop, stop, Sprucefield". The driver did stop right enough. He was from Kenya and very attractive. However, he hadn't a clue about Lisburn or any stops other than main roads. He apologised (it WAS his fault) but we had to travel into Belfast nevertheless. We texted our son and told him that we were delayed but would be with him shortly.

Well, eventuallyh arrived in Belfast, all passengers alighted, except us, driver drove us back to Lisburn, son met us and we arrived home safely.

It's lovely arriving to your own wee house after being away. The dogs greeted us excitedly, we made our way into the kitchen. Put on the kettle, opened the breadbin for the bread (for lovely buttered toast). The breadbin was empty. Looked in the fridge. No bread. Perused the freezers, including the one in the garage - no bread. Disgusted and cross, I made a cup of coffee and around 3.30 am went to bed.

I can tell you I was in bad form for a day or two.

Ah well, we're more or less back to normal (only today mind you).

Hope you enjoyed the input. I take no prisoners.