Getting the Eurostar to Germany, what an exciting prospect! So much easier than going to the airport, we could take liquids and as we all know, I do love a train journey. We were booked on the 15:07 from London’s St Pancras International and I was really looking forward to a lovely relaxing afternoon. It was not be. Here follows anothe classic travel fail.
We woke up early to try and do some work in our newly rented flat. Time trickled by, as it so often does, and it was suddenly ten minutes after we were meant to leave. Now, I started to fret. I HATE being late, but it really doesn’t bother Karl. I flapped, I nagged and I finally snapped and just told him off. We grabbed our rucksacks and set off for the tube station. A twelve minute walk later and I was just reaching for my Oyster card, when I realised my hand was plunging into thin air. I had picked up my rucksack but not my small handbag containing not only my Oyster card, but my purse, the train tickets and my passport. Fail!
Oh FFS, I growled (not a turn of phrase, I literally growled).
We quickly decided that Karl should go off ahead and get his lunch and a drink for the train and I would follow. At this point it was half past one and the check in gates would shut in one hour.
The Mad Dash
I started to run. At first I was a goddess, I was Mrs Usain Bolt, I was Paula Radcliffe with an empty bladder…a little less than a minute later, I was a puffing, wheezing, unfit mess. I haven’t been to the gym in well over a year and my eating regime has recently been, um, gluttonous. Stumbling and desperately comparing Google Maps and Uber’s journey estimates, I arrived home. I snatched the hand bag and sprinted back out of the front door, much to the surprise of the man stood outside measuring something or other for the council.
Dashing around the corner, I put on an extra burst of speed and jumped on the bus that was waiting at the bus stop. I caught my breath and text Karl “On the bus to the station”. I began to relax and shifted in my seat. It was all going be OK. When the bus made a left turn at the crossroads, rather than carrying on to the station, my stomach plummeted! New to area, I had accidentally dived onto a number 36, not the number 31 that I needed. Fail! The phone came straight out and the flapping began again in earnest. Luckily, I saw that the bus went to the next station along the train line….thank the sweet travel gods
The Final Stretch
I leapt from the bus and ran full pelt to the tube platform where I shuffled my feet like an tap dancing busker until the tube pulled up.
The train arrived at St Pancras International a full 20 minutes before Google had predicted. I ran up the stairs practically humming the Rocky theme tune that played in my head. The crowd cheered and clapped wildly as I made a victory lap of the station taking snaps for my next blog post. That may also have just been in my head…
So I made it, but at what cost? Well an extra bus ride, but also, Mr Fluskey now think I am a travel idiot again. Time to ace the rest of the train trip to Germany and regain my pride.
When will I learn!?