(This is my excuse for missing yesterday’s posting.)
It was about the time when we’d not only missed our flight at Heathrow, but also—by minutes—the last bus to the hotel from the next day’s departure airport, Gatwick, that I decided it was a Bad Day to Travel.
We had planned for the day pretty well, in all fairness. We took it easy, going to church in the morning and then taking a lazy bus ride and stroll over to Baker’s Street and Sherlock Holmes’ 221b. Before we left for the airport, we stopped by Platform 9 ¾, pilgrims to a shrine. We gave ourselves an hour for the train ride and two hours in the airport before take-off.
Unfortunately, in Europe, 17:15 does not mean 7:15 under any circumstances. From the moment we realized it, the following Dumbledore quote kept running through my head:
“Being—forgive me—rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger.”
Now exchange “older” for “rather cleverer than most men.” That sums growing up for me right now. When you’re little and drop your camera into Old Faithful, it’s not such a big deal because it was made by “Crayola.” But losing your sister’s sleek, new Canon digital in the Philly Airport—or misreading army time when you glanced at the ticket days before the flight—makes you feel the weight of your twenty-two years.
(Sidenote: my old Crayola camera actually survived to obsolescence, despite all my best attempts to be irresponsible with it. I’m pretty sure it’s impossible to drop a camera into Old Faithful, but if it had been possible, I’m sure I tried.)