Today I flew from Bangkok to Heathrow. To be safe I left a 3 hour gap between my two flights... but as sod's law has it, the flight was delayed by 4 (typical!). After patiently waiting/sleeping on the freezing cold metal chairs in Bangkok airport, the plane finally arrived and we consequently arrived into Heathrow with just one hour to go before my Manchester connection. Collecting bags took the first 20 minutes. Running from terminal 4 to 1 only took the next 20 (try doing that with 25 kilograms on your back, I challenge you), and checking in with the wrong airline took another 10. Finally, with 10 minutes to go, I jump the check-in queue in front of the angriest looking woman I have ever seen (made even more scary as my queue jumping was the sole reason for her anger). The check-in lady explains that I'll never make the plane in time. I tell her I can run very fast. She says ok... and boy did I run. Getting on that plane, after worrying about it throughout the whole previous 12-hour stint, the biggest smile was just stuck to my face, less than 45 minutes before I would finally be home to Lizzie after 6 months on the road.
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