A Long Weekend!

This is a photo less post, because I am crap (not really, read on to find out why!)

As I mentioned a few days ago, I was going away for 2 whole nights to see family in Scotland.  Well, seeing family wasn't the actual reason, that would have been the Hanson concert that I had a ticket for (and they were bloody excellent!  And the atmosphere was like chipmunks on acid).

It started off so well.  I was super early for my flight, take-off was a breeze, I finished one row of a crocheted scarf I'm working on.  That's where the good luck ended.  After that one row, I couldn't will myself to do any more.  Turbulence coming into Glasgow lasted for 20 minutes, and I was sweating like a pig after it on the verge of a panic attack (this is not unknown to me).  My dad was running late and wouldn't be there until 30  minutes after I landed.

And this is where I learn a valuable lesson about family communication (or, in particular, my familys communication).  It does not exist.  At.  All.

My dad phoned me when he arrived at the airport, said he was in the car park pick-up area.  So I run across to the car park - no dad.  Cue 45 minutes of phone calls between me, my dad and my mum to figure out where in the name of hell he is.  In trying to direct me to the pick-up area (which I was in, but my mum takes noone at their word), she happened to slip in the phrase 'as if you were driving into Edinburgh Airport....'.  I may have shouted and swore at this point.  It was beyond cold, beyond windy and really really rainy.  If you are unsure why I shouted and swore, please read the second paragraph of this entry.  I can wait.

Got it?  Yeah, my mum had told my dad I was flying into Edinburgh, despite me telling her numerous times, that I was landing at Glasgow.

The disaster story does not end there.  No, I was clearly being punished for looking forward to my 2 nights of perfect sleep.

It was decided I would get the shuttle bus into Glasgow, and get the train to where they live, and someone would pick me up.  So I got on the bus.  Sat down.  Got my phone out to send a text message and BAM.  My phones screen goes all pixelated and then dies.  Not a battery failure.  It hadn't been dipped in water.  And yet it was dead.  I wanted to cry, not least because this meant I would now need to use a frigging pay phone to tell my mum when I'd be arriving on the train.

Did you know pay phones need 60p minimum in them now??!!!!  I was aghast!  60p!!!!  I could buy a can of irn-bru for that!!!!!

The rest of the trip was uneventful by comparison.  I ate lots of square sausage, drank lots of Barrs lemonade.  Got my hair cut, which Jitterbug hasn't noticed.  Got a Hanson t-shirt, and had a blast with my mum, sister and cousin.

The turbulence on the way back was terrifying, and my scarf still sits at one row long.  I also have to figure out if I hedge my bets on HTC saying the phone is water damaged (condensation was rife on anything with a cold surface, I had to take my glasses off on the bus!) and send it straight to the insurance company, or if I can really be without my phone for 2 weeks at the least.  I am currently using my old phone, which is already on borrowed time due to being dropped down the toilet a few months ago.

And it is for that reason that I have no photos.  Simples :).

I need another holiday.