I knew I shouldn't have built that wooden horse before I left...

Hmm, I wonder who will get that reference...

Tuesday:

I arrive in work to find an email stating a new problem with the system. The upshot is that I have to go to France again. I look at flights, and consider that there is one at 12:50 to Paris Charles de Gaulle, and wonder if perhaps I should go home, pack, and get on that flight. But, no, by the time the decision is finalised it makes more sense to get the 7:00 to Southampton, then the 11:20 to Rennes, and thus get to the office just before 2. So, that's the plan.

Wednesday:

I get up at 4:15. Breakfast, clean teeth, shower, out the door (I may have dressed somewhere in there). I get to the airport at about 5:45, allowing plenty of time to deal with the enhanced security. But, check-in proceeds smoothly, and I drift through security without issue. I ponder why it is that some people have so much trouble with this where I never seem to.

About 6:40, we board the plane, and taxi out to the runway. The engines spin up, and the whole feels like it's about to throw itself into the sky. The anticipation is overwhelming.

And then the captain's voice is heard, "Sorry folks, but we're going to have to return to the terminal. We're having a technical fault."

So, back we go. The pit crew comes out, and have a look at the engine. After battering it a few times with a wrench (or whatever they do), the engineer comes on board, and speaks to the captain. The captain then announces that they think they've fixed it, so he's going to spin up the engine and see how it goes.

Shortly thereafter, he apologises again. The plane is goosed, so we need to disembark and wait for a replacement. The time is now 7:40.

Upon leaving the plane, and once the crowd has dispersed, I approach one of the terminal staff. I explain that I have a connection, and that it is the only such flight for two days. Will I make it?

Well, she doesn't know, but they're going to make an announcement soon enough, so if I just wait...

At 8:00, they make an announcement, to the effect that the flight is delayed. I was reassured by their being so on the ball as to have noticed this fact. They then say the next information will be at 9:00. Okay, now I'm getting worried. The flight is an hour and fifteen minutes long, so that's becoming awfully tight.

So, I approach the terminal staff again, this time speaking to another person. I again explain the situation, and ask if it is possible for me to be checked right through, so all I have to do is scamper through security in Southampton. But, alas, they are a point-to-point airline, and their computers "literally won't allow them to do that". However, if I speak to the flight attendants, they should be able to arrange for me to get off the plane as quickly as possible at the far end. At this point, I consider hitching a ride on one of those flying pigs I've been hearing about, but no joy.

About 8:50, they start boarding us on a new plane! Huzzah! I might just make it after all, I think.

But, no! Once we're on board and waiting, there's another delay. The (new) captain comes on, and explains that we're just waiting for them to load our luggage. We'll be on our way soon.

We take off at 9:22. We land at 10:35, having made good time. Hope is kindled again - I've only just missed the check-in, and I'm sure I can charm my way onto the plane, 'cos I'm just so damn charismatic.

And then there's another delay! We have to wait for a bus to take us from the plane to the terminal, and it's at the other side of the building. Rage threatens to consume me, but as that serves nothing I beat it back.

We get off the plane at last. The bus takes us to baggage reclaim, and our bags are waiting for us! Miracles, it seems, will never cease. So, I grab my bag, and scurry across the airport as fast as I dare, given the proliferation of trigger-happy policemen with automatic weapons. There is no queue at the desk, so I swiftly zig-zag through the lines like a madman, and dash to the first assistant.

"Hi,I'mjustoffthe7:00fromEdinburgh,andamsupposedtobeonthe11:20toRennes."

"I'm sorry, sir, but that flight has closed." She was very emphatic. There was no charming her. Damn.

"Oh."

"You'll have to go across to the desk there, and they'll see what they can do for you."

So, I slink across the airport, to a desk where I met the one and only competent employee of this airline (or so it seemed). Cute, too.

"Hi, I'm just off the delayed 7:00 from Edinburgh, and I was supposed to be on the 11:20 to Rennes." It sounds much better with spaces in. Also, eye contact and a winning smile. It was almost a Jedi mind trick.

So, she picked up the phone, and called through to the gate. She has a gentleman here who should have been on the flight, but his earlier flight was delayed. No, he left plenty of time for his connection. Yes, he has a bag to check. Oh, okay.

Sorry, there's nothing she can do. That was the one flight they were running that was actually on time.

Okay, options. The next flight to Rennes wasn't until Friday. Completely useless. Their flights to Nantes and Brest had already left, and besides, how was I to get from there to Rennes?

"Could you fly me to Paris Charles de Gaulle? I can get the TGV from there."

She looks, and there is a flight. But it doesn't leave until 17:55, gets in at 20:10. Okay, I think, what about the TGV?

So, I call the office, and explain the situation. Can they look up TGV times? Why yes - the last TGV leaves Paris CDG at 19:55. I think it unlikely that I will make that. Ah, but wait! There's another one, from Gare Montparnasse! Oh, but it leaves at 20:55. It's a 40-odd minute journey, if you know exactly what you're doing.

Okay, options. They could get me a hotel in Southampton, and put me on the first flight in the morning? (On reflection, I wonder what would have happened if I'd taken that and asked the girl to dinner? I could even have promised to wear my very best jeans and t-shirt!)

I have a better idea. How about they fly me to Paris tonight, I get a hotel there, and get the first TGV to Rennes? Ding! We have a winner!

So, back on the phone to the office. What about the TGV in the morning? Well, there are two options: there's one at 10:10 from Paris CDG, or a 6:35 from Gare Montparnasse. Cool, sorted.

So, that's the flight sorted. And we're halfway through the odessy. I'll take a break while you get a cup off coffee.

...

Ready?

Okay, the next thing to do was to get a hotel. But, without the internet my options were few. So, I walked across the airport to the hotel desk, and spoke to a nice chap there about hotels in Paris. I tried to explain that I was travelling on from Gare Montparnasse, but he was "English, and so don't know about French place names". Which airport was I using?

So, he checked the computer, and there were eight hotels near the airport. He rattled off a list of names and star ratings. Which did I prefer?

In hindsight, I should probably have gone for the Hilton, given that I was staying in Paris, but punnery aside I said, "which is the cheapest?" (I generally find it is a false economy going for the cheapest hotel since it's usually awful, but since I was there for all of six hours, I figured it didn't matter.)

The next bit was hilarious, but doesn't really work in the written format. My very-English hotel-booking-man called his French counterpart, and tried to book me into the Hotel Ibis in Roissy.

That done, I went and got some lunch. It was just after 12:00. Shortly before boarding the new flight, I then got a packet of crisps and a bottle of juice, and also a novel to replace the one I'd read in Southampton airport.

The flight to Paris boarded on time, took off on time, and landed on time, not that it mattered much. There was a delay in disembarkation, because they were waiting for a portable power generator so they could switch off the engines without turning off all the lights; in the end they just shut off the lights.

Off the plane, through passport control, reclaim the bag. Then, along to terminal 2, where the TGV station was to be found. There, I found the ticket office still open, which was good. So, I stood in the queue.

I very quickly noted that there were two assistants, one cute and competent, and the other neither. There were two people ahead of me, and then only one as the guy at the front of the queue was called to the assistant who was neither. Uh-oh. So, I reached out with the Force and put cute-and-competent on a go-slow until the queue was cleared. This worked like a charm, indicating that either I actually am a Jedi, or perhaps that it was a coincidence.

"Bonsoir. Demain matin, je veut aller a Rennes. A quel heure part the premier train?" Have I mentioned that my French has been refined to a fine point by all these trips to Rennes?

"Dix heures et dix. Il arrive a trieze heure et quinze."

"Il y'a un autre train qui part Gare Montparnasse?"

"Oui. Il part a six heure trente-cinq."

"Un billet, s'il vous plait."

And so it went. I had my ticket for the TGV. To get to Gare Montparnasse, I should get the RER from the airport, and trains left from 5. Sorted.

Now, to the hotel! Terminal 3 of Paris Charles de Gaulle is called Roissypole, so I figured that was a good place to start. And, when I got there, behold! there was a hotel Ibis right there. So, in I went, and I queued, and I queueued, and I queueueued, and then I was at the front of the queueueueue.

"Hi, you have a reservation for " I say, in French.

He checks, and then, "Non." Uh-oh. So, I show him my booking form, at which point comprehension dawns. It's a different Hotel Ibis. I have to cross the terminal, and get the shuttle there. Okay, off I go.

If you think this is a long post, just remember: I lived this!

So, across the terminal, and there was the shuttle - a little mini-bus effort packed with people. So I make my way on, put down the bag, and then realise that I'm standing in the middle of this thing unrestrained. If the driver slams on the brakes (not unlikely in Paris) then I'm Supermanning through the windshield.

But we make it, I am not forced to resort to heroics, and I'm in the hotel! I queue, and... you get the idea. This time, they really do have a reservation, and I have a room. I get to said room at 9:30 or so, French time, drop my bag, and then head down to the restaurant.

Dinner was disgusting. Truly, it was horrible. But, no matter, it served its purpose. (Also, as you know, it is a bad idea to drink on an empty stomach. Additionally, they reckon that sleep deprivation is equivalent to having had a few. I can now confirm that it is a really bad idea to put all three together. Still, it did help me sleep.)

So, I ate, and then went back to reception. What time did the shuttle start? 5:30? Okay, then can you book me a taxi for 4:45 to take me to the airport. Also, breakfast? Available from 7:00? Okay, no breakfast.

Back to the room, stripped the clothing, into bed.

Thursday:

I wake at 4:00 French Time (so, 3:00 in real time). I get up, shower, brish my teeth, remember to dress this time, pack, and leave the room. I check out, and wait for the taxi. 4:45 comes and goes. I ask at reception; he's definately on his way. No matter, I left plenty of time for a 5-minute journey. 4:50 and he arrives, and I'm heading to the airport...

Or not. Because the driver instead goes to another hotel to pick up a family of 3 Americans, and then to another hotel where he picks up a family of 4 Americans. Then, it's off to the airport, but to the wrong terminal, where he drops off the first family of Americans.

There then proceeds to be a blazing argument because the Americans didn't think they wanted to pay, and anyway don't have any money. It is now 5:10.

At length, they disappear in search of an autoback. At length, I think they ended up paying in dollars. Anyway, the driver returns, and takes me to the terminal I need. It is about 5:15, and I get out, and pay the €10 with a €20 note. And the driver doesn't have change. But, in the bundle of notes he shows me, there is a €50, so I give him 3 €20s, and we're done (the alternative was a 100% tip, which I did consider, but apparently one doesn't tip taxi drivers in France).

So, down to the RER, where a train awaits, and on I get. And we're on our way.

At this point, when telling the story thus far, I have omitted a key part, which I've inserted later, but I now restore it to its proper place. As we travel, the most mighty headache begins. Unlike the pressure headaches I sometimes get, this is at the back of my brane, and hurts a lot, especially when I look up to the right. I take this as a sign that no divine intervention is forthcoming. However, I do become rather worried that, perhaps, this is it! Cerebral Haemorrhage for the win. Idly, I wonder, if I die here, will anyone help me, or will they just steal my stuff?

Then I realise that I'm carrying a prototype system of great value to my master-plan, and that therefore I can't die, so I decide to ignore it and it'll go away. So it did.

The RER arrived at Chatelet Les Halles at 6:16. The next step was the Metro, six stops, 19 minutes. Could it be done?

Well, it didn't look promising when six stops suddenly became seven, since Chatelet Les Halles is actually two stops. But, surprisingly, we arrived at Gare Montparnasse at 6:31. Four minutes to go!

But, where was the train? Out the Metro, scan the surroundings, see the sign, run like a madman. This place is a warren! Another sign! Head to the light! Run, run, run! Stairs! Climb! Wish I didn't have this bag. Damn, I'm unfit! Run, run, run! The train!

Of course, the ticket was numbered for seat and for carriage. I was in car 10. There were 10 cars. Car 1 was closest. Run! Run faster! A whistle! Jump!

And I was on the train. I staggered along the last few cars, found my seat, collapsed. It was done!

(Then, of course, there was the trip back, where the first flight was delayed again, we missed our connection again, and then there was a security alert in Edinburgh airport... but that's another story.)