I left home at half 6, Wednesday-evening. I was at Bee’s at 4 am, Thursday-morning. The only uneventful part of my trip was going to Schiphol.
Upon arriving there, I was informed that my plane would be delayed for about two hours. Which threw a serious wrench into the plans Bee and I had for my arriving in England. I was to take a coach to Stratford-station, where he would meet me and we would take the tube to his place. But the tube stops runnung around midnight, before I would be at Stratford. It is no fun hanging around an airport, especially if you hadn’t counted on it. The woman at the check-in desk said it was because of the weather. And I understand that, even though I wasn’t assuming Stansted was having difficulty. It wasn’t earlier in the day.
At Stansted, I informed after cabs. I’d have to wait an hour for one to be free. In hindsight, I should have waited. I didn’t. I took the train to Liverpool Street, which was an adventure in itself. The doors wouldn’t close properly, because they were iced over. At half 1 I arrived at Liverpool Street, where I finally caught a cab, sharing it with two other people who had to go to Belsize Park. Which is nowhere near where I had to go. Some of the scenrery was pretty nice, driving under trees laden with snow. Pretty atmospheric, out of a picture-book.
Bee hadn’t gone to bed when I was finally delivered, of course.
In the end I was cold, tired, and frustrated. Stupid snow. Stupid cold snap, the worst to hit the UK since 1963, according to the news. (When the Netherlands had the worst Elfstecdentocht. I think they skated through a snow-blizzard.)