Mis-matched

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Feeling chilly in the westerly breeze is how BBC weather describes the start to the day, and walking briskly from my house to the bus station, I ponder just how right that prediction is in spite of how well I think I am wrapped up – thermal undershirt, long sleeves, a fleece and a wind breaker notwithstanding. I have always thought it interesting just how well predictions of lousy well work as opposed to ones which promise warm, dry spells, or not. Confirmation bias maybe?

I make a pit stop at the office to grab a (free) coffee and give my email a last eyeball to confirm there is nothing waiting that might need action over the next few hours I’ll be out of commission, before I hop on to the 727 to the airport. It is a quick run today and I make it into the airport in 30 minutes flat, in time to tack myself on to the back end of the check-in queue which has begun to build.

The small talk is about the storms which have hit down south – disruptions, trees crashing into homes and the truly sad story of a young boy being swept out to sea dominate – and the apparent suicide of Jimmy Savile’s driver. Thankfully, up here in our corner of WetVille, we have been spared the worst of the storms. The line inches forward steadily, everyone goes through the now regular routine – show passport, weigh bags, confirm any medications, weigh self, confirm contact and details are correct on the electronic travel database and then hop off to the baggage screening area. When it is my turn I do the same, finding that my employers have failed to include an updated medical in my record. Thankfully I am due out before the current one expires so it’s no real biggie.

I drag myself on to the baggage check area and dump my shoes and belt as I walk through the full body scanner. I walk towards the security guard for a pat down, noticing a few chuckles as I do so, but oblivious to the fact that they are directed at me.

Great pair, pal, the guard remarks with a smile playing on the edges of his lip as he points to my feet. My bemusement turns in the instant I look downward into an inward cringe of embarrassment. I have somehow showed up on the one day of the month I will walk about in my socks with a non-matching pair.. In my defence, my day has already being a pretty long one, even though it’s only 10am.

 

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