We're about 10 hours into our flight, not counting a two hour wait on the tarmac at Heathrow to address a "very minor technical problem", that in our minds at least became decidedly less minor as the "short delay" was periodically extended.
The family goodbyes were hard, and a little tearful, everyone trying not to dwell on how long it would be till we met up again, the boys seemed to skip through them pretty well though.
I was prompted to write this a few moments ago, to record an unfortunate incident that I think Frankie might recall later. He is fast asleep again now, across the two seats next to me, hugging his blanket and George, his little St Georges bear given to him by his class as a leaving gift, that he chose as his one cuddly toy to travel with. He'd been sleeping with his knees tucked up, but at that moment, I noticed in sleepy horror, as the flight attendant raced purposefully down the aisle, that his right leg had straightened and was overhanging his seat. As trolley crunched into foot, I was reminded of the hobbling scene from Misery, where the image of James Caan's foot being broken with a sledgehammer is indelibly etched in my mind. Although to her credit, the flight attendant bore little resemblance to Kathy Bates. Frankie let out a yell almost as loud as mine and then settled back to sleep. I can't see any blood. Can one sleep with a broken foot?
We're rather hoping that the chap meeting us at the airport from our Bed and Breakfast will have waited the extra time for us in preference to going to bed.......
Phil 19/8/12
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