The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1419 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

While the TdF riders would soon be dealing with ordeal by time trial, I was having a trial against time myself. I explained to the officers at the incident what had happened–hell, they had some of it on phone–they record them routinely now, they insisted I went down the station to give a statement.

Was I trespassing? I had been asked to do the survey, so assumed it had been cleared–I was lying of course, but they could check with the council and Natural England–and my future brother in law isn’t going to let me down, I hope.

Why hadn’t I told the man what I was doing? He was holding a gun and I was trying to get away. Eventually, I managed to get away after signing a statement. I drove like a demon to get home, it was now after eleven o’clock.

I explained briefly to Simon what had happened and he called the Porsche dealers to come and repair the side window and touch up the paintwork. While he negotiated with Herr Porsche’s men, I threw clothes and shoes into a bag and then dived into the shower.

I chucked combs and brushes into my bag as well as makeup and perfume, rushed downstairs–then back up again as I’d left my watch behind. I was pulling my still damp hair into a ponytail when the taxi arrived–a twelve seater minibus.

No one had checked how heavy their bags were–I had a camera and netbook in my rucksack as well as a heavy overnight bag. The driver chatted with Simon while I tried to stay awake and calm with a handful of overexcited children, most of whom hadn’t really been on a plane before.

We got caught in traffic to the airport–seemed like everyone had the same idea. Eventually, we got to the dropping off point, and the driver agreed to come back and collect us on Monday about lunch time. With a trolley laden with enough luggage to resemble an emergency evacuation of a whole city, we tramped the airport looking for our check in. It was the opposite end and they were calling for late passengers.

Simon got caught for about seventy pounds in excess baggage and we hadn’t left England yet–what about all the life sized models of the Eiffel tower the kids will want to bring back? Curiously, my main bag was okay, and they gave me an old fashioned look at the size of my hand luggage.

They were still calling for boarders for our flight, so we had to run to the departure lounge–being rushed through the baggage checks–where Meems couldn’t get her shoes back on, so we ran onto the aircraft with Simon carrying her barefoot and me running after with her shoes and her little bag.

We did get on the plane before it was airborne but it felt as if it was only just. Of course we were scattered all over the place, Meems sat in front of my seat which was an aisle seat, I was next to an enormous lady who smelt of BO and lily of the valley. She was sweating profusely and the pulse in her neck was visible.

Simon was sat opposite Livvie who was behind Trish, and Danny was in front of Simon. I’m sure it’s all as clear as day–very foggy one–still we were only going to be flying for about an hour. The lady next to me was becoming agitated and selfishly, I thought, if she makes a fuss, they’ll send the plane back to Southampton if it takes off at all. We taxied to the runway and the woman was moving about like her knickers were on fire–I even looked to check–if they had been, if her derriere was sweating like her top end, she’d have quenched the flames.

The man on the window side of our row of three seats ignored the woman and I wasn’t sure if they were together or he was ignoring her distress in the hope it went away. If that was the case his strategy was pants.

I tried to think how nice it was that Henry and Monica had been to come and abduct Catherine for a day or two–then realised they were staying at our house to keep Stella company, or Monica would, Henry would be glued to the telly watching the race–he was a keen cyclist–drinking Tom’s booze.

My airborne neighbour began to hyperventilate. “Calm down, it’ll be alright,” I said to her, and laid my hand on hers, which was digging her nails into the armrest.

“Go to hell,” she said and continued her shallow and rapid breathing.

“Have you flown before?” I asked.

“Mind your own fucking business.”

Was obviously showing my superb people skills today, one had tried to kill me and this one was being obnoxious.

“Take slow deep breaths,” I said ignoring her rudeness.

“When I need your help, I’ll fucking ask for it.”

I decided the man next to her was either profoundly deaf or wasn’t with her. The plane began to accelerate down the runway and she began to panic. As we left the ground, she was wrestling to undo her seat belt and shouting.

I tried to calm her down until we levelled off and an airhostess galloped up to see what was going on. She told the woman to behave or the plane would divert back to Southampton. I felt like saying, if it does it will be without the foul mouthed female sitting next to me–because I’ll drop her into the Channel–she’d probably bounce like one of Barnes-Wallis’s dam-buster bombs and destroy the flood defences on the Thames.

The woman continued to struggle and I got out of my seat to let the airhostess–the trolley-dolly, deal with big Bertha. I was standing talking to Simon trying to scheme how we could open the rear door and drop her out without anyone noticing.

Everyone was looking at her as she swore at the hostess, when Meems got out of her seat and went up to the woman. “Can I sit with you, wady, ‘cos I’m scared.”

Watched in horror as Meems calmly got into my seat and the noise stopped, they were holding hands and I know energy was passing from Meems into the woman because she was drawing it from me.

I sat in Meems seat, ready if necessary to eviscerate the stupid woman if she so much as sweated on my daughter, but they were sitting together and the woman was reading Mima a story. There were some sighs and gasps as we landed but we got there.

I couldn’t get out of the plane quickly enough and was down the stairs very rapidly to marshal all my troops before we went through immigration. Being EU citizens it was a formality and we were quickly through, the woman walking along with the man who’d been sat with her and both were smiling sweetly at Mima, who held on to my hand tightly.

The jamboree at the baggage reclaim area was like a giant jumble sale, and I held onto the children while Simon collected our mountain of bags, and I was wondering how anyone could have written a musical about it–the baggage area, I mean–you never heard of Carousel?

We found a minibus taxi which took us to an hotel on the Champs Elysees, and through which Simon had arranged seats for us near the finishing line and from where we could also see a huge TV screen. This was absolute magic and I had to kiss him, even though we were still in reception. Just fancy–tomorrow, I get to see the end of the tour and today, we’re going to see the Eiffel tower. Pure magic.