Swimming

Not at all the romantic business of epic novel. The last minute double whiskey with Richard in the The Happy Flyer Lounge nearly cost me the flight. I thought they always called you in plenty of time. Unfortunately this is not true of Delta Airlines. I was met in the terminal by a pair of very perturbed stewardesses, obviously the heavy mob. The ones the airlines feed male hormones to, deprive of sleep and drive out with cattle prods to deal with arseholes like me. Well they threatened and cajoled me through to the plane, snorting on about; "...that I could thank all the Gods of aviation if I even got to fly and how they had already off-loaded my luggage..." Well I made it. Even through the gauntlet of disapproving, icy stares from my seated fellow passengers; who probably thought that I was causing them some manner of delay. The smell of whiskey and the jangling bags of duty free probably made my mumblings of "Sorry..Heavy traffic." Seem a tad hollow.
By Mid-atlantic a few of the ones in my immediate vicinity had started to thaw out a bit. A few more drinks punctuated an otherwise uneventful flight to Phillidelphia. "Mr and Mrs Smith" and "Bewitched" must be two of the worst films ever, even though they have a couple of the best looking actresses. Nicole should go back to "Dogville" and Angelina to Billy Bob. I wish I could save them from the stunted losers they are obviously forced to work with.  God I hate long haul flights. I had to check out my bags in Philly and then back on for Miami, with all the attendant vigours of the new Homeland Security measures. Everyone is fingerprinted and photographed as a matter of course. The interminable X-rays, removal of shoes, jackets and belts, the lugging of many heavy bags through seemingly endless terminals all added to the joy of travel. Philly was as cold as a homeless crackhead at Christmas, so it was not without some measure of elation that when I put it behind me, enjoyed one more scotch on the airplane and finally touched down in Miami, it was not only an inner warmth that I felt. Blissfully Hannah was waiting with a car at the airport, not more that ten yards, from the baggage belt. Off to the appartment for a grand chat over a great meal and a good wine.
I was later to discover that my luggage had,in fact, been off-loaded in Amsterdam. The baggage handlers, who obviously don't like to handle the same luggage three times had added a few stickers of their own, bringing everything from my lineage to my sexual orientation into question. Hmmmmmm. Maybe there is some sort of epic in there.