Travel, my stupidity
Apr. 11th, 2003 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ailbheI woke in a foul mood after about 5 hours' sleep. We tidied the house so that the cleaners could clean and then we got into a taxi; we swung by the office so that I could collect something from Ellie and then we went to the train station to check coach times and buy tickets to get us to the airport.
After that, we went to the jewellers and picked up our wedding rings, which was comparatively painless. Then we went to a cafe and ate. I was barely civil to Rob, because I sort of blamed him for my being so tired - if he had done his own packing, not lost his passport, etc etc. I knew at the time I was being unfair, but didn't seem able to wake up enough to start being fair and rational.
At Heathrow we stumbled around and I discovered that I hadn't remembered to get Rob to pack his clean hankies, so I made him buy some. I also nurtured secret fantasies of telling him to sod off and go home, and going on my own. He later admitted that he, too, had nurtured secret fantasies of sodding off and leaving me to go alone.
The flight was fine, uneventful. We had a pleasant taxi ride home to Mum's house, with a silent but friendly taxi driver. Then we clumb out, Rob paid the driver, and we clumb into Mum's house. After a couple of hours of talking, drinking tea, hauling out things I'd brought to give them, show them, etc, I realised that I had no handbag.
My handbag, it should be said, contained my passport, purse, credit cards, cigarettes, university notes, spare hairties, pens, rubber bands and postage stamps. And some other stuff.
We searched the house. We eventually concluded that I must have left it in the taxi. I cried. My sister kindly called lots of numbers - airport security, the airport information desk, the gardai. Rob called Barclaycard and Intelligent Finance and got the cards cancelled. My sister took me out to get alcohol and when we came back we were fed by my mother (Fatted Calf #1). The garda she spoke to told her his name, and what shift he was working on Monday, and that I should cancel the cards but hold off reporting the passport as missing for as long as possible. He gave her his name so that he could call the carriage office for us on Monday if she and I had no joy - they might give more information to a guard.
About ten-ish we got a call from the garda. He had a name and number of a taxi driver who had my handbag.
I called the number. "Helloe, is that John Ryan?" I asked. "Yes," he said, "how are you?" "Fine," I said. "Feeling a bit silly, are you?" he said, in a lovely, avuncular tone. I could have hugged him. He told me that my handbag was there, all as I'd left it, and that the passport and all was in it ok, and when would I like him to deliver it? He couldn't do it tonight, because he was at the other side of town. Would tomorrow morning do? He didn't want me to be without it all weekend, I might need it!
True love begins this way.
The evening got brighter after this, and we were all able to go to sleep eventually.
After that, we went to the jewellers and picked up our wedding rings, which was comparatively painless. Then we went to a cafe and ate. I was barely civil to Rob, because I sort of blamed him for my being so tired - if he had done his own packing, not lost his passport, etc etc. I knew at the time I was being unfair, but didn't seem able to wake up enough to start being fair and rational.
At Heathrow we stumbled around and I discovered that I hadn't remembered to get Rob to pack his clean hankies, so I made him buy some. I also nurtured secret fantasies of telling him to sod off and go home, and going on my own. He later admitted that he, too, had nurtured secret fantasies of sodding off and leaving me to go alone.
The flight was fine, uneventful. We had a pleasant taxi ride home to Mum's house, with a silent but friendly taxi driver. Then we clumb out, Rob paid the driver, and we clumb into Mum's house. After a couple of hours of talking, drinking tea, hauling out things I'd brought to give them, show them, etc, I realised that I had no handbag.
My handbag, it should be said, contained my passport, purse, credit cards, cigarettes, university notes, spare hairties, pens, rubber bands and postage stamps. And some other stuff.
We searched the house. We eventually concluded that I must have left it in the taxi. I cried. My sister kindly called lots of numbers - airport security, the airport information desk, the gardai. Rob called Barclaycard and Intelligent Finance and got the cards cancelled. My sister took me out to get alcohol and when we came back we were fed by my mother (Fatted Calf #1). The garda she spoke to told her his name, and what shift he was working on Monday, and that I should cancel the cards but hold off reporting the passport as missing for as long as possible. He gave her his name so that he could call the carriage office for us on Monday if she and I had no joy - they might give more information to a guard.
About ten-ish we got a call from the garda. He had a name and number of a taxi driver who had my handbag.
I called the number. "Helloe, is that John Ryan?" I asked. "Yes," he said, "how are you?" "Fine," I said. "Feeling a bit silly, are you?" he said, in a lovely, avuncular tone. I could have hugged him. He told me that my handbag was there, all as I'd left it, and that the passport and all was in it ok, and when would I like him to deliver it? He couldn't do it tonight, because he was at the other side of town. Would tomorrow morning do? He didn't want me to be without it all weekend, I might need it!
True love begins this way.
The evening got brighter after this, and we were all able to go to sleep eventually.