Oh no it’s my niece again.

Happy days. The sleep depravation demon has turned up again.

This time she wants me to take her to Gatwick again. Her flight leaves at 0610 on Monday morning heading for Amsterdam. That means that I’ll have to be up at about 0300 so that I get my cup of tea and 10 cigarettes consumed before we set off.

She was quite sneaky this time. Instead of turning up tonight she arrived yesterday to get the drop on me. Since then she has worked her way through my White wine, Beer,  Red wine, and now she’s on my Mount Gay rum. (The single malt is hidden in the garden).

Apart from the early start tomorrow I’ve got my eldest daughter coming over mid morning to discuss financial details of our family holiday next year. I’m sure they have colluded together so that this groggy blogger is talked into paying more than he needs.

I’m starting to think that I need to rent a permanent parking space at Gatshit as I seem to spend an inordinate time there. Thursday I’ll be there picking up my younger daughter and family at midnight, and Saturday picking up the Spawn of Satan from her return trip.

If there are no posts from me Tomorrow, then I’m probably dead. 

Flights

I’m just about to pick up my niece from Gatwick shortly.

Rather than trust the airport to give me correct/incorrect arrival time, I use a very nifty little programme called flightradar24. This allows me to track the progress of a flight in real time.

For instance at this moment her flight is at 38,000 ft and travelling at 442 kts, and on a course off 332 deg.

When it gets to Paris I shall jump into the car and head to the airport.

Just thought you might be interested.

Ring Ring.

The sound of my house phone calling me. A quick look at the number on the screen, and I ignored it as it was not a number I recognised. I surmised it was probably someone trying to sell me double glazing/loft insulation/tell me I had £3670 of miss sold PPI/or I could benefit from solar panels. (Pick your choice).

A few seconds later my mobile rang.

Me: “Hellooooow?”

Caller: “Hi favourite Uncle, This is your favourite Niece”

Me: “Bugger off. I haven’t got one”

Caller: “Yes you have. It’s me ****”. (name obscured to protect you from the spawn of satan).

Me: “Oh hi ****”.

****: “Dear favourite Uncle (suspicion is starting to set in), can I pretty please, come up and see you on saturday?”

Me: “Oh that would be fine, look forward to seeing you”. What time will you be up”.

****: Afternoon.

Me: Ok. See you then.

****: “Can you do me a little favour”?

I now realise I’m about to be sucker punched.

Me: “And what would that be?

****: “Would it be possible that you could take me to Gatwick on Sunday”?

Me: “What time”?

****: “6.30”

Me: “ That’ll be fine. We can have lunch and then have plenty of time to get there.

****: “No dear Uncle, 6.30 in the morning.”

Me: “That’s Ok we can get there in plenty of time if we leave here at six”

****: “No dear favourite Uncle, the flight leaves at 0630. I need to be there at 0430” .

Me:  (realising the horror of it, and having been  played like a pike in a pond) . Meekly replies, “OK”.

The likely outcome:

The Devil’s spawn Favourite Niece will spend Saturday night drinking copious quantities of wine on Saturday night with Mrs FE with the consequence that there will be a flat panic when the devil’s spawn Niece is having to be literally tipped out of bed late in order to have a chance of catching her flight.

The upshot is, in the near future, you will read about a driver who was banned from driving for three years for overtaking a police car on the M23, being clocked at 143 MPH.

Oh and she want’s me to pick her up on her return.

****. If you are reading this. Could I be jesting? Or not?

Do reply if you read this post.

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