I’m very tired: I’ve had two hours sleep, out of the last 36.
We had some problems at work, which meant I had to stay on a bit longer. Luckily, we managed to get it sorted, but it made it too late to go back to my hotel and have a snooze and a shower before the flight home. I had just enough time to quickly throw all my stuff into my suitcase and laptop rucksack and check out of the hotel.
I dropped the hire car off and took a slow saunter over to the airport. I arrived at the EasyJet check-in desk in good time and joined the queue.
Tired though I was, I felt relaxed as - unlike last week - I’d arrived at the airport with at least 15 minutes leeway.
As the queue slowly shuffled along, I watched a couple of people taking photographs of each other. As I did so, a thought popped into my head: “Where’s my camera?” I thought about it for a minute. I’d packed hastily, but I didn’t remember putting the camera away in either bag. It must be there.
Surely.
Unsure, I dropped out of the queue and plonked myself in a corner somewhere and proceeded to empty the contents of my bags. There was no camera.
Arse.
The last place I remembered having it was in the car.
So, bags in tow, I briskly walked all the way back over to the Avis car drop off point. As I arrived I saw a chap driving my car round the back of the building. I gave chase, as fast as I was able - laden as I was with all my luggage. Luckily, I caught up with him and explained my situation. A quick search of the car revealed the errant camera hidden under the driver’s seat. Hurrah! I stowed it in my rucksack and headed back to the airport. No time for sauntering now though: time was getting on. I walked back as fast as a could, with my rucksack weighing a ton and my wheelie suitcase refusing to roll smoothly on the bricked pathway. The sun beat down upon me and by the time I got back to the check-in desk, I was perspiring heavily.
Once I was through security and into the Departures Lounge, I sat down to relax and then I realised something: I stank!
I was still wearing the same clothes from the day before and I’d been sweating like a pig. I couldn’t sit in close proximity to people on a plane, smelling like this!
Aha! I spied a branch of Boots in the shopping mall. I’d be able to get a can of deodorant. That’d help with the pong.
Inside the store, they had many different cans of smellies. But all I could find were big ones and I just wanted a small size that I could put in my bag. Then I hit upon an idea: why buy it at all? A couple of surreptitious sprays onto the pits of my t-shirt was all I needed.
I crouched down, trying to look unsuspicious, as I looked at the many different cans on display. When no-one was about, I quickly grabbed the nearest can and gave two sharp squirts under my left armpit.
I wish I had put my glasses on first. The can I picked up wasn’t deodorant; it was bloody shaving gel.
I looked under my arm to see an unfeasably large amount of blue gel stuck to my t-shirt. I tried to wipe it off with my hand, but that just seemed to spread it about… and start it lathering up. Shit!
Shit, shit, shit!
I quickly made my way to the nearest toilet - bluey-white lather all over my shirt, hands and rucksack. Paper towels just smeared it around. I found washing it with water was the only thing that would get it off.
As I emerged from the toilets, my flight was called and I had to go straight to the gate.
I sat on the plane for an hour, in a t-shirt that was wet all down one side.
I think I smelt quite nice though.
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