TThe lights of London twinkle below growing larger in size upon my descent towards Gatwick. The plane bounces like a poorly thrown basketball off the tarmac, followed by a violent screech of the breaks and a quick declarative lunge. Once entirely at rest, there is a massive scramble from people to unbuckle seatbelts and bolt upright, pressing their heads against the fasten seatbelt signs in the usual fruitless display. The flight was a short hop; however, I was more than glad to shake an overbearing woman, who insisted I was in her seat, despite my ticket! Undeterred she settled in Gavin’s empty place, vanquishing my plans for increased legroom, resigning me to a tight squeeze with the armrests down for the remaining duration. 

Gladly evacuating the plane, I make my way towards baggage reclaim before settling in the arrivals section. I scan the arrivals board and notice Gav’s flight from Glasgow is on time and should arrive in the next ten minutes. I patiently wait, GoPro in hand, ready to catch his embarrassed expression on camera. Time seems to lumber on, and I eventually get a text informing me he is at arrivals and asks where I should meet him. Was I sleeping? Did he walk past me? Maybe I was more tired than I thought. I call him.

“Hey man, I’m hanging outside arrivals – did you walk past me?” Gav replies, “I’m in arrivals near a WHSmith”. I spotted the store at the far end of arrivals and swiftly respond with a “cool, see you in a bit”. I grab my unwieldy luggage and limp towards the shop looking around for any resemblance of Gav – I could see no one who fit the bill. For a while, I scratch my head before phoning him back and asking for further details of his location. He details the hall layout noting an M&S, WHSmith and costa all within the arrivals section. The information I’m fed directly aligns with the exact spot I’m standing in. I look about frantically, bewildered at why I’ve not seen him yet. I start to think I'm the butt of a practical joke and Gavin is watching from a corner.

The back and forth discussions combined with aimless wandering continued for fifteen minutes, even detailing the outer taxi ranks. My stomach yells at me, instructing me to rage quit and get the next taxi to the hotel. I let Gavin know the details of the hotel, telling him to make his own way there. My stomach rumbles as we pass various fast food takeaways, eventually pulling into a stop some ten minutes later at the airport Premier Inn. Lo and behold, Gavin is already shuffling about in the hotel reception. After a brief awkward man hug, we laugh and work out that we were in two separate yet identical arrival halls.

At the reception, a middle-aged woman with black hair greets us and begins to check us in. I let her know of my reservation and proceed to take out a booking confirmation from a surprisingly tattered envelope. The receptionist takes the letter from my hand and gives it a vacant stare before returning to the computer. “No,” she says slowly “I’ve not got anything on my system”. Gavin and I look at each other and laugh manically shaking our heads in disbelief. I go on to inform her of the blasted external company I made the booking with and tell her I have paid up front! She says, “Have a seat, I’ll see what I can do”. Half an hour goes by and now three confused hotel staff crowd around the computer, flipping back and forth between the computer and the booking confirmation. Eventually, after much murmuring, we are approached with a room key and an apology for the wait, my stomach rumbles. Before making a move for our room, I ask about the bar and if it the kitchen is still open. “Unfortunately, not, however, we do pizza until 11” the receptionist answers. I perk up, that will do nicely.

Room sorted, bags dropped we settle at the bar for some much-needed beers and pizza. Refreshed we reminisce over trips passed and toast to our adventure to come. As the saying goes, start as you mean to go on.