Hi Folks,

I had every intention of boring you all whilst I was home in Scotland, but found I was far too busy having fun. But now I am back again in Erbil so your luck just run out.

It was a good, fun trip home, mostly. Some of the highlights were getting out on the river after the elusive Spring Salmon. Seeing Scotland play Wales at Murrayfield in Edinburgh and discovering the joys of a 21yr old Glenfarclas Single Malt.

The downsides were battling Viagogo for lost rugby tickets, train travel and enjoying 21 yr old Glenfarclas a little too much.

But more of that later.

Getting Home

The flight home was generally OK. All went well until I arrived at Heathrow. It had a relatively short transfer time. Just shy of 2 hrs between planes, but even so, I thought I would have plenty of time. Wrong.

On arrival into England we got stacked over Essex, going around in huge lazy circles. This seemed to go on for ever and looking out of my little window, I could see a lot of aircraft doing much the same. Eventually, we straightened up and finally came into land. It was a nice, soft landing but taxiing to get to Terminal 4 seemed to take forever.

Eventually we arrived at the stand, some 20 minutes after the expected arrival time, but then nothing. We just sat there expectantly. At last, an announcement was made that there was a medical emergency on the plane and we couldn’t get off until the paramedics arrived and assessed the patient. Whilst sympathetic, I was very aware that I had yet to get from Terminal 4 to Terminal 5 and had already lost 30 minutes of my time by now.

There then followed a lot of pleading with the cabin crew to let me off, pointing out my next flight was due and also that the emergency was in a different cabin and a different exit. Eventually they relented and let me off, ahead of a crowd of frustrated business class passengers. I legged it along the sky way and followed the transit signs to a bus stop. I was the only passenger there but begged the driver to please go. Fortunately he did.

The Transfer

To get to terminal 5 from Terminal 4 requires a bus change at Terminal 2. However, on this day, the underground passage that allows a quick transit across the airport was closed. So we had to drive around the perimeter. This meant crossing the main taxi way and for that, we needed an escort car and a break in the endless procession of big jets trundling along in front of us. It seemed like an age before we finally got a thumbs up to cross the runway and I finally got to Terminal 2. Where there were no buses waiting. I now had an hour before my flight and 30 mins before they closed the gate.

A bus finally showed up and I urged a not particularly interested driver to get a move on. It wasn’t a long transfer, but I still had to go through immigration and security. Off the bus and sprinting along the corridor, I joined the herd moving to immigration. I spotted the e-gate sign and barged through just edging ahead of a bunch of around 30 pensioners from god knows where. There were a few murmers of “How Rude” as I pushed to the front but I just yelled sorry, flight to catch and carried on. Once through the e-gate, I realized I had used the wrong one and was now in the arrivals hall. Oh for Gawds sake.

Out of the arrivals, up the lift, into the departures hall and through the gate. Massive security line and this in the fast track section. More judicial elbowing to the front, apologizing as I went and I got through with no beeps. Grabbed my stuff and looked for the gate number. There was a certain air of inevitability that the gate was probably the most distant in the terminal, but with less than 10 mins to go, I just legged it.

Race to the Gate

The terminal was mobbed and everyone seemed to have all the time in the world as they slowly ambled along. On the other hand, I was trying to go as fast as possible through the crowds without demolishing anyone or anything. I got a few funny looks, darting and weaving, but managed not to do any damage. Got to the gate, or at least where the gate should have been, but nothing. Not just no people, no Gate?

It was down stairs. Aarggh. Retraced steps, found stairs, took them 3 at a time and got there just as the last passenger was going through. I was a bit out of breath and rather sweaty at this point, but I had made it. Of course it was another bus transfer to the plane. Whilst I got my breath back, I tucked my shirt in on the ride out to the plane and tried to look a bit more human. I had made it.

We then spent nearly 40 minutes sitting on the tarmac waiting for a departure slot.

Thats when I decided.  Heathrow is my new Charles Degaul Airport. I now officially rank Heathrow as the worst airport in the world. And that’s saying something.

Aberdeen at Last

In fairness to the pilot, he put his foot down, or whatever they do on planes, but we still arrived rather late. None the less, I was back in sunny Scotland, well, quite cloudy Aberdeen, actually, but I was home.

Off the plane, Wifey and Small daughter were waiting for me and it was great to be home. The longest stint, to date, I have ever been away from small daughter. She was like a limpet and I was delighted to have this beautiful, wonderful little girl clinging on to me. I have to say Wifey seemed quite pleased I was home too. So all was well with the world.

 

The car journey home was uneventful. I sat in the back with small

daughter and played top trumps. She was pleased to see me, but it didn’t stop her cheating like crazy. Before long we were at Dufftown and then Craigellachie and finally HOME. It was so nice to be back. A small white dog erupted from the house and proceeded to run around in mad circles barking and whining and doing his best to pee on my shoes. Even Squeak the cat came out to say hello. Now that’s what I call a homecoming.

 

 

 

Honey do List

That first weekend was great. Just chilling out with Small daughter and Wifey and going through the mountain of stuff I had ordered from Amazon. It appears when I get bored, I buy from Amazon. I had forgotten about half of the things but they are all really essential and important, obviously.  

We had some good walks with Snuggles the Wonder Dog. Lots of snuggling on the Sofa in front of a roaring log fire, watching family movies with a dog and cat on our combined knees. Very cosy.

 

By Monday, my restlessness kicked in and I was starting to feel guilty about not doing anything. So I decided to have a go at my Honey Do list.  

 

First item on on the agenda, sort out our wood store.  We have a cellar with a coal bunker and a large area for logs. The log supply was getting low

and it was getting harder for wifey to reach them because there were hundreds of whisky barrel lids in the way.  In the past, old whisky barrel lids were delivered for fire wood.  I had stacked a pile of them up, but they had collapsed and were blocking access to the logs.  You could get past if you wanted to, but I should mention, these barrel lids are home to around a million large, black spiders. And wifey wasn’t going anywhere near them.

Fearless Spider Hunter

Armed only with a stout pair of gloves, I had soon moved all of the lids and even sawn a few up to help the wood pile. There were an awful lot of spiders, some of which were whoppers. I had the odd close encounter. One fell, on my head at one point, causing me to hop around and brush frantically at my hair.  I needed a cup of tea after that particular close encounter.

These really are quite impressive beasts. Not huge, but big enough to worry you, well worry me and Wifey.  We reckon they are Cave Spiders, based on the interesting egg sacks they produce and dangle from the ceiling in the cellar or on the underside of floorboards in the house. They are also more than willing to defend their eggs. They are quite aggressive, are capable of giving a nasty nip and have seen me off once or twice. I am not keen on spiders.

The only thing to do was to catch as many as possible and relocate them. I caught a worryingly large number, but don’t tell the wife. I stuck them in a big jar, then released them at the bottom of the garden a long, long way from the house. Hopefully they’ll take the hint.

Manly Stuff

As some of you may recall, we had a bunch of trees cut down towards the end of last year.  The nice  tree surgeons chopped them up into big roundels for me, stacking them into neat piles.  With our newly cleared wood store, I decided the time was right for some manly wood chopping.  

Some of these things were over two feet across and quite deep, far beyond the scope of my little log splitter. So I bought a log grenade. A heavy and very sold wedge, designed to be thumped by a sledge hammer into the wood splitting the big chunks into little chunks. Sounds easy. 

The morning after the big clear up, Wifey and I took Snuggles the Wonder Dog for a long walk. When we got back, rather than retire for a nice cup of tea and some toast, I got out the log grenade, a hefty sledge hammer, a couple of big axes and my chain saw. I was all set. 

The Wood Chopper at work

It seemed worth while trying the chopping axe first. No joy. Just a deeply embedded axe that took a lot of effort to release. Next came the grenade. A gentle tap to start with, just to set it, then an almighty thwack with the sledge hammer. Another few blows and tadaaah, one split roundel. The two sections  I achieved were still quite big, so the grenade was pressed into service again to get 4 smaller sections. Now I could use my axe. 

Before long, the ground was covered in fire sized logs and splinters. Once I got a good number, I paused to transfer them to the log store. There is a trap door at ground level to the side of the house which lets me throw the logs directly into the log area. Using a trusty wheel barrow, they were soon all put away. Hadn’t made a lot of difference to be honest so, more big roundels gathered and start again.

I have to say, it was satisfying, but bloody exhausting. I had started out wearing a big jumper, fleecy shirt and T-shirt as it was a bit chilly out. By lunchtime, I was down to the T-shirt and was still lathered. I didn’t want lunch. Didn’t want to stop. I was on a mission.   Wifey brought me a cup of tea and some water. She did suggest I take a break as, how did she put it, ‘your a strange shade of red, dear’. But no. I carried on, for I am man and the testosterone had kicked in.

A log too far?

By 2.30, the log store was much fuller, although I hadn’t made much impression on the pile of tree roundels. They wee still piled high and seemed to stare at me, mockingly.  Wifey insisted I call it a day as I was no longer a strange shade of red. Instead I had progressed to an alarming shade of purple. Despite the testosterone rush, I decided she was probably right.  Apart from my new coloration, I was completely knackered and also was aching all over.  A long, warming shower was called for, followed by a nice glass of beer. My reward for all the effort.

Suffice to say, I was aching for days afterwards. Which I suppose was my  reward for being such a pillock and overdoing it. And the moral of the tale is, Wifey usually knows best so listen to her. Like that’ll happen. 

Next time……

I think that’ll do for now.  Next time we will find out the oft asked question of how many bottles of whisky can you fit into an Aston Martin, Why Viagogo are at best a risk to use and why we will never travel with Scot Rail again.

in the meantime stay safe and talk soon.