A Mystery

Tags

Baden-Baden, Bernd Rosemeyer, Breakfast, Charles Dickens, Jim Clark, Television Show

Having told you all about my journey to Baden Baden yesterday, you may expect me to use today’s blog post to tell you what I did when I was here…but on the whole I cant! I was in the city to appear on a TV programme, but until it is aired I cant tell you anything about it, so the main excitement of the stay is something that I must leave undescribed for a few months. So here is the redacted version of my Thursday:

It was a beautiful morning and the Baden-Baden birdlife was in lusty voice outside my window as I woke. I made myself a coffee from the Nespresso machine. Unfortunately there was no guide as to what the various differently-coloured pods contained, and my knowledge of the Nespresso brand is not strong enough, so I took pot luck as to whether I was getting off to a caffeinated or non-caffeinated start. Whichever it was, it tasted good.

Breakfast was served in the first floor restaurant and was one of those glorious European buffets to which the British label ‘Continental Breakfast’ does no justice: cold meats, cheeses, salmon, breads in all shapes and hues, multiple mueslis, yoghurts, juices, pastries, preserves, a delicious looking honeycomb and lots more had me salivating.

As I perused the fare on offer a gentleman sat at a nearby table flashed me a smile of recognition and I smiled back without having any knowledge of who he was. I sat at my table and thoroughly relished the feast, returning for a couple of mini croissants upon which I spread the honey, before pushing my plate away and sitting back to finish my coffee. The sense of relaxation compared to 24 hours before was glorious.

I couldn’t relax for too long however for I had an appointment in one of the hotel suites with a Covid test which all participants in the TV show had to take before being allowed to travel to the studios. I presented myself at 9.30 and having been swabbed very briefly up one nostril I departed again with an assurance that if I didn’t hear anything it would be OK, and if I did, well then it wouldn’t. I am one of those lucky people who has yet to catch Covid in any form and I sincerely hoped that today would not be the day that the second red line appeared.

I returned to my room and changed into the tourist’s uniform of shorts and t shirt, ready for a morning walk. I had a little administrative work to do before I could explore, so I sat on my little balcony overlooking a courtyard and placed my laptop on my lap and started tapping away. After a few minutes the next door balcony door opened and the gentleman who had smiled in such a friendly way at breakfast appeared, still smiling. ‘I would like to introduce myself, I am Andreas and am interpreting for you today’ As I speak no German other than ‘guten tag’, ‘danke’ and ‘ein bier bitte’, and the show was for the German market Andreas would be in my ear throughout the recording, feeding me the questions and relating my answers to the studio.

My next commitment was in an hour and a half’s time, so having finished my work and my chat, I left the hotel and followed my nose. Liz and I had visited Baden-Baden together some years before so the streets around the centre were familiar: it is an affluent town with expensive shops (I had commentated the night before of some of the architecture being similar to that in Monaco and I saw nothing to disabuse me of that). There are fountains and churches and of course the huge spa to which wealthy Europeans flocked and to which now wealthy Russians (so Andreas told me later) flock. From the town centre I found myself in a park with paths winding up hills, I climbed some wooden steps which took me ever higher, and I eventually found myself on a terrace with amazing views across the town and to the hills beyond.

The air was clear and fresh, and little by little the travails of the previous day drifted into the sky and away. By now it was time to return to the hotel and the navigation was easy – head downhill.

My next official duty was to meet the presenter of the programme, just to run through what was going to happen, and Andreas joined me so that we could practise the interpretation technique. Julia, the host, spoke to me in German (even though her English is superb), and Andreas sat at my side keeping up a constant dialogue in my ear, so that by the time she finished a question there was not a huge gap whilst he translated. The biggest thing I had to achieve was to maintain an interested eye contact with her, as if I were hanging on her every word, rather than gazing off into the distance as I concentrated on the words coming to me.

The prep meeting soon finished and it was time for lunch. There were a few other guests for the TV show staying in the hotel and we had a jolly time getting to know each other. One of the others asked Andreas about the interpretation industry and whether voice recognition algorithms were taking over, and the reply made so much sense, that I wonder at my never having realised the fact before: Andreas pointed out that whilst technology was making his work more scarce, a computer can never take a speaker’s words and make a decision as to their meaning and context, and then use suitable words to translate them. In other words, it can’t interpret as a human can. To me the word ‘interpreter’ has just been another way of saying ‘translator’ but it means so much more.

After lunch it was time to take a short drive to the TV studios for a technical walk through. On my notes it was mentioned that if I had any clothes that needed attention I could take them with me, so I put the trousers, shirt and jacket that I was planning to wear for the recording onto a hanger and set off to the TV studio. It never fails to amaze me how many people are involved in making a show, from runners, to floor managers, to directors. to cameramen, and countless others whose jobs are unknown but who obviously have a vital role in creating a successful programme.

We ran through what I was to do and Andreas disappeared into his soundproofed booth from where he would talk to me via a tiny earpiece. The floor manager held a brief conversation with me in German to check that the system was working well and sure enough I could hear the words clearly. When we had finished out brief rehearsal Andreas mentioned that he was going to walk back to the hotel, rather than take the minibus, and I said that it would be nice to join him. As we walked Andreas told me that he had been watching lots of YouTube clips of my shows as preparation for the day, which is why he had recognised me so quickly at breakfast.

Back at the hotel I took the opportunity of a rest, so watched a film on my laptop before drifting into a nap. I woke in time to shower and freshen up once more before meeting up with Andreas once more and taking the minibus back to the studio for the actual recording. When we arrived I was shown to a dressing room where my clothes hung beautifully pressed. I changed and then was called to hair and make up, where liberal amounts of foundation were applied to dull the glare from the studio lights. Even my hair and beard were gently primped.

I returned to my dressing room until I was fetched and was taken into the studio where I was to record an episode of……..

And there the story is paused! Until it has screened in Germany I can say nothing more, but I will talk all about the actual programme in a later blog post.

When the filming was finished I was taken back to the hotel where there was a dinner laid on for everyone who had been involved in the day’s events, which was fun. As the evening came to a close I said goodbye and thanks to Andreas whose professionalism and expertise had made the day so much easier than it could have been, and then I returned to my room, for I had quite an early start the next morning.

My car to Frankfurt was due to meet me at 8.15, so I just had time to get to the restaurant and raid the buffet table again before I had to finish packing and get to the lobby. The day was fine and it was nice to watch the scenery flash by (my journey to Baden-Baden had of course been in darkness), and about half way to Frankfurt I saw a sign to Hockenheim, which is where the German Grand Prix used to be held. It is also the track where one of the greatest drivers of all time, Jim Clark, crashed fatally in 1968. As we sped by at 100 mph I looked over towards the dense forests which claimed him. And as we drove on another motorsport story came to me, for I realised that we were on the Autobahn between Frankfurt and Darmstadt and it was on this very road that the great Mercedes and Auto Union teams of the 1930s made attempts on speed records – battling each other for supremacy and at the same time showing the technological might of the Third Reich to the watching world. It was here, in January 1938, That the young racing star Bernd Rosemeyer set out to try and set a new record in his silver streamlined Auto Union, but a gust of wind unsettled the car at around 280 miles per hour and the resulting crash took his life also. I had never realised that these two seminal and tragic events in the history of the sport I love so much had occurred so close to each other.

Fortunately our drive was perfectly smooth and safe, and in no time I was at Frankfurt airport where, I am glad to report, there were no delays. My flight home left on time and I enjoyed absolutely clear views as we flew over Bonn, Eindhoven, the Dutch coast and then back to England arriving over Clacton pier. It was a strange thought that as we skirted London to the North, the Queen’s 70th Jubilee celebrations were taking place in the city, and soon in that very same sky a huge flypast of 70 aircraft would be forming up to make their way over the Mall and Buckingham Palace where, hopefully, the Queen would be on the balcony watching.

Appropriately we made our final approach right over Windsor Castle and soon after touched down at Heathrow.

Another chapter of my adventures had come to an end

A Long Day At Heathrow

Tags

Baden-Baden, Charles Dickens, Frankfurt, Germany, Heathrow Airport, Monaco

Having returned from Suffolk on Friday, my UK tour turned into an international one on Tuesday as I left the house early in the morning to drive to Heathrow airport, where I was due to board an 11.30am flight to Frankfurt. I had been booked to appear on a German TV show which was to be recorded on Wednesday evening, so Tuesday would be a lovely relaxing day, arriving in Baden-Baden during the afternoon, checking into a rather elegant looking hotel, and having the rest of the day to myself to explore the town, maybe take a little swim and session in a sauna at the spa for which the town is so famous. Then I would have a dinner with a finely chilled glass of Rhein Wein, or maybe a Moselle. The only shadow over the day was that Liz wouldn’t be there to share it with me.

My drive to Heathrow was easy, for the roads were clear and fast moving. I drew into the car park just before 9 o’clock, and having made a note or the section and aisle were my Kadgar would rest, I walked to the shuttle bus stop where a van pulled up as I arrived. 10 minutes later I was walking into the departure lounge of Terminal 2. It was only 9.15 and I had promised myself a slap-up breakfast before ambling to the gate at 11. That was the plan.

Terminal 2 was a seething mass of humanity.

The news has been filled during the past week with stories of gridlocks at various ports (Dover being particularly hard hit), and this is due to many factors. Firstly the effect of Covid on the travel industry – naturally many workers lost their jobs, and now that restrictions have been lifted and people are travelling in numbers, the ports are woefully understaffed. Monday 31 May was also the start of a holiday week so a lot of families were travelling therefore putting extra stress on an underprepared system. And there is the ‘B’ word: Brexit. Although the official changes to the freedom of travel within Europe came into force over a year ago, the extra time and manpower of extra immigration and security checks and were hidden by the periods of lockdown and restricted travel. Suddenly in 2022 everyone is seemingly on the move again and quite simply the ports (most especially in my case Heathrow Terminal 2) cannot cope with the perfect storm that brought so many to one place.

I had checked in at home, but I still had to join the queue to drop my bag…….An hour. Now it was 10.15. As I stood in the line an official had passed by saying ‘Frankfurt, 10.30, anyone for Frankfurt 10.30 flight please come with me’. I wasnt really concentrating, but heard the word ‘Frankfurt’, so asked if that was the 11.30 flight, ‘no sir, 10.30’. The man behind me in the line laughed that I should have just gone without questioning the time, covering up the flight details with my thumb on the boarding card. Oh, how I wish I had! I edged and shuffled further forward, until at last I had a bag tag and could send my suitcase into the trusted hands of Lufthansa.

And now I joined the line for the pleasure of getting through security.

At the first look this didn’t seem to be so bad, for the entry to security was just behind the baggage drop, but I was soo disabused of any notion that I could swan through, for I was directed back on myself to join a queue that wound around the terminal, even at one point taking us out of the doors and into the open air, as if hundreds of people were creating a giant conga line – without the happy smiles and laughter.

The woefully inadequate staff were doing their best to contain the large number of people without causing any crushes or dangerous surges. At one point I asked if I could get to the front, as my flight was due to leave at 11.30 and instantly others joined in ‘Mine too’, ‘I am at 11.20.’, ‘I have to be at the gate at 11’, and so the problem was laid bare for all to see – no one was going anywhere fast. It was at 11.05 that I finally stood at the little electronic security gate which would allow me into the security area proper, and even then I was told to wait until the crowd in front had dispersed a little. At last the very patient lady who was controlling the line waved me forward with a smile. I scanned my boarding pass and was rewarded with a message on the screen: ‘Cannot process. Go to your airline for further assistance’ Now what? Well, apparently it was too late to be let through this particular gate – they don’t allow any access after a predetermined time before a flight is due to depart. I asked the lady what I could do, and she suggested that I go to the FastTrack line – that sounded good, so I left the gate, the gate that would allow me in, and found the FastTrack line….or at least found the end of the queue for the FastTrack line, which was as long and as static as the one I had minutes before reached the front of! More pleading with more operatives and I was sent to the ‘extra assistance’ line which is there to help large families with buggies and infirm folk in wheelchairs. Another period queuing, and the clock ticked on past my boarding time and up to departure time. As I continued to shuffle I passed a notice placed on behalf of the ITV television company which seemed to mock me with its words: ‘Raw TV are currently filming Heathrow: Britain’s Busiest Airport’ I bit my lip and did not give in to the tirade of foul language which was welling up inside.

I had a brief glimmer of hope when I received a text saying that my flight had been delayed, but it was only by 15 minutes. The inevitable came to pass and the plane left without me.

When I finally cleared security, the strangest sight met my eyes for Terminal 2 was deserted! Everyone must have burst through the human dam and ran to their gates as fast as they could, without stopping at restaurants, shops or seating. I took a moment to catch my breath and called the television company in Germany to update them on the situation and then tried to work out what to do next.

The Lufthansa help desk was my next port of call, and naturally there was nobody there – every other airline had clerks, sometimes two and in the case of EgyptAir even 3, helping their customers, but from Lufthansa there was nobody to be seen. After waiting for about 20 minutes someone appeared and without making any eye contact or smiling or acknowledging that I even existed, she spent an inordinately long period of time carefully wiping down the desk and keyboard and telephone handset. Having sanitized everything she then realised that the boarding card printer needed refilling with blanks, and disappeared for a while before returning with a handful of cardboard rectangles which she loaded…apparently the wrong way round for she took them out again and had another try. I tried to catch her eye and ask for help, but she wasn’t going to acknowledge me until she was quite ready. Even then there was no hint of a smile, or an apology, or any emotion whatever – I began to wonder if she was perhaps a (an?) holographic avatar of some kind.

When she finally switched on her engagement mode I explained what had happened and passed over my boarding card, and then without a word she disappeared into the back office. To be fair when she re-emerged she bore good tidings, informing me that I would be on the 6.30 pm flight to Frankfurt, which would arrive at 9pm My case, she assured me, would meet up with me there. And so I had a further 6 hours to wait in Terminal 2.

My delicious breakfast, which I had so been looking forward to, had now become a lunch and I sat in one of the restaurants writing this blog post, people watching and just letting time drift by. Having eaten I then went to the book shop and bought ‘A Short History of England’ which may help me in my new-found interest in the Magna Carta, then I found a seat and wrote a little more, read the start of the book and people-watched some more. 2pm became 3 and 3 ticked round to 4, at which point I glanced at the departures board and noticed that my new flight was slowly climbing the second page. I decided to add some excitement to my afternoon by waiting until it clicked onto page one, and then treat myself to a coffee and cake, which I duly did.

Through the afternoon I had noticed that all of the Frankfurt flights had departed from gate A23, so I took a wild gamble and went to sit there – I was alone, but sure enough at 5.45 the announcement flashed up that my flight would indeed depart from A23 and I supressed a smug smile – my first little success of the day.

Much to my delight I was in a priority boarding group so when the flight was ready to board I was able to saunter down the ramp and enjoy an almost deserted aeroplane for a few minutes, my day was definitely improving. The other passengers piled in and then we all sat in our seats as our departure time came and, of course, went. An announcement came from the captain that due to a shortage of baggage handlers the incoming passenger’s bags had yet to be unloaded, let alone ours stored, so another wait was in store. The clock ticked to 7. Eventually the captain came back on to announce that the hold doors were shut and he was confident that we would be able to depart very soon. A further wait. The Captain came back over the PA to inform us that they needed a ‘Headset Man’ to be present to control the start up of the engines and the push back from the gate. I have never heard of a Headset Man before, but apparently he is the aviation equivalent of a sea pilot. So, still we waited.

It wasn’t until 7.30pm, a full eight hours after I should have left Heathrow, that our Airbus began to roll. We took to the air quickly and were soon across the English Channel and over mainland Europe heading South. The flight was a short one and it seemed no time at all before the cabin pressure changed and we began our descent. We flew past Frankfurt’s high rise skyline made a great loop and gently descended to the runway where we touched down. As we taxied lots of passengers stood and gathered their bags, as they had connections to make. Despite the continued pleas of the purser and cabin crew they surged forward, as if that would speed the plane up, and by the time we finally stopped at the gate the aisle was full. I had no such need to hurry (I had become rather accustomed to waiting), so remained in my seat and waited until the initial rush and crush had subsided.

It was quiet in the terminal and I was quickly granted permission to enter the country for the purposes of appearing on a TV show, and made my way into the baggage reclaim hall where, you may be surprised to read, there was a delay. I assume that the same labour shortage is prevalent in Germany as has blighted Britain, but announcements informed us that our baggage would be delayed. For another hour did we wait! At one point the belt started and we all leapt to our feet and watched three bags come out, at which point everything felt silent again. The same happened again 2o minutes later and a few more passengers excitedly picked up the belongings and left, leaving five of us behind staring at a once more stationary conveyor belt. Finally, at 11.10pm the last bags came through, including (to my great surprise) mine! I say the last bags, but that is not quite true for one gentleman in a rather racy checked tweed jacket was left forlornly standing alone as the rest of us left.

Outside stood Ivan. My driver, with a little ipad saying ‘G Dickens’ I could have hugged him. He was due to meet me at 9.05 and now it was 11.15. He led me to his car – a lovely black, sleek Mercedes Benz and I took my seat in the back. Baden-Baden was a drive of about 90 minutes but we skimmed along the Autobahn at a constant speed of around 100 mph which at first was exciting and exhilarating, but which soon became routine and ordinary. Occasionally another car would WHOOSH past us as if we had been trundling along at 20, meaning they must have been touching 150 or more. It is fortunate that the Germans are careful and skilful drivers for the consequences of a collision caused by inattentiveness at those speeds are unthinkable.

At a little after 12.30 we pulled up outside the elegant Maison Messer, an extremely beautiful building redolent of the architecture in Monaco (the scene of the latest F1 Grand Prix the weekend before). I said my thanks to Ivan and in the exquisite lobby was checked in. In no time I was in my room, at last.

My plans for an afternoon at the spa were long gone, as were my dreams of an exquisite dinner, but I dined on a packet of cashew nuts from the mini bar and then fell into my bed , oh the bed – it was so good to be there and sleep came extremely quickly!

Escalate or Elevate

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Beechwood Hotel, Boston, British Airways, Charles Dickens, Disney, Ebenezer Scrooge, Hertz Car Rental, Hetahrow Airport, Nissan, Vaillancourt Folk Art

After two shows at opposite ends of Great Britain, and less than a day at home, Friday saw me resume my United States tour as I prepared to fly from London to Boston.

My alarm was set for 6am, but I woke an hour earlier than that remembering that I hadn’t packed or updated my SatNav unit. Of course, such a trifling matter was completely unimportant – I could pack it before I was due to leave at 8, and even if I didn’t, I would have my phone to assist me along the way, but in those dark, early hours, everything takes on levels of global importance.  As soon as I got up I found the small, and rather old, unit in a drawer and packed it into my case, the updating would have to be done at the airport.

Goodbyes are always difficult and this one was no different albeit wrapped up and foreshortened by the complications of getting the children dressed and out of the door ready for school. My taxi arrived on the stroke of 8 and soon I was on the way to Heathrow airport, as I had been 3 weeks previously – this was almost turning into a commute. 

The journey was flawless which was perhaps surprising during a Friday morning rush hour, and I checked in and cleared security at Heathrow Airport with very little delay, leaving me with over an hour to check the navigation unit. I logged on and sure enough the American map needed updating. Having purchased the upgrade and set the download to begin I discovered that apparently the USA has grown in the last 2 years for the new map was too large to fit onto the little device. I was given the option to select a portion of the country, and as this trip is going to focus entirely on the North East corridor, that suited me just fine.  As the updated content downloaded so my flight flashed up on the screens confirming that it would departing from gate B36, and I should make my way there.  The B gates at Heathrow Terminal 5 are separated from the main building, and to get to them you have to descend the longest escalator you have ever seen, board a shuttle train and then rise to ground level once more.  The train was extremely busy and as the crowd was disgorged, we all made for the escalator that would take us up again. There were lifts available, but everyone avoided them, presumably not wanting to be squashed into such a confined space in these Covid days, meaning that instead we were all squashed together on the escalator whilst the elevators remained empty, and therefore much safer: the apparently more risky alternative had proved itself to be the sensible option: to escalate or elevate?

At the gate I took a seat and waited for the boarding to begin, and sure enough soon a recorded female voice informed us that she invited Group 1 to board. A few expensive suits with their brief cases ambled through the priority lane but the bulk of the crowd remain unmoved, until the same voice came over the PA for a second time and told us that Group 6 was now being invited.  This was a surprise but a large bunch of us stood, gathered our bags and made for the gate, until we realised that the same voice recording was being used for the Chicago flight at the next gate, in fact the flight that I had taken a few weeks before, so we all sat sheepishly down again.

While I was preparing to board I had a message from Liz at home that will appeal to all who laugh at Mrs Cratchit’s panic-stricken antics with her Christmas pudding. Last year Liz made two puddings, one of which we steamed and ate as part of our Chritsmas lunch whilst the other remained sealed in the cool dark cupboard, where it had been ever since Liz mad made the mixture sometime in the autumn of 2020. Yesterday Liz decided to investigate to see if we would be able to eat it on Christmas day this year and to her dismay found that the entire thing had grown an outer fur of blue mould – ‘Supposin’…..supposin’…..’

Back at the gate Groups 2, 3, 4 and 5 were called and at last when ‘our’ group 6 was called I could take my rightful seat on the starboard side of the plane. 

On the last flight from Heathrow I calculated that we flew pretty well over the top of my home town, but I had been in the wrong side to get a view, so this time I had selected seat K instead of A to see if my hunch was correct.  Although there had been heavy rain and low cloud through the morning, by the time we took off the sky had cleared and I tracked our progress with interest:  There was Windsor Castle (easy to spot), the M4 and Reading. The Thames meandered around beneath us: was that the bridge at Marlowe that was the subject of a painting that used to hang in my parents’ bedroom? And then I could see the Wittenham Clumps, a favourite walking spot for us, the site of the old Didcot Power Station and then yes, there was Abingdon with the river running through it.  I could clearly see the all-weather sports stadium where my daughter goes for her football training, and the ring road around the town. There was the new housing development, and the roundabout at which the ring road intersects The Oxford Road. From there it was easy to see my own neighbourhood and I waved to Liz and the girls, as I had promised that I would.

We soared ever higher into the sky, leaving Oxfordshire behind us, and headed towards Boston. To while away the time, as the British Airways flight attendants diligently served me with a lunch of Lemon Thyme Chicken, I watched Bohemian Rhapsody again and as on the previous two occasions a tear came to my eye during the Live Aid sequence.  Following that I selected Joker, the extremely bleak prequel to the Batman franchise, and after that the joyful Disney film Moana – just to cheer me up a bit, although in fact it sent me to sleep for a while.  When I woke we had just under two hours to go and were making ‘landfall’ over the Gulf of St Lawrence. We began our long slow descent into Boston and as the cloud was very low by the time I could see the land below us we were skimming over the many little islands that lie just off the Massachusetts coast. A little bump, a skip and we were taxiing to our gate, ready to set foot on American soil once more.

For once the lines in the immigration hall were minimal and apart from trying to explain how I alone do 30 different characters in my show, the interview with the agent was not difficult and in no time I was walking towards the carousel to await the arrival of my large blue case, and in one of those rare moments of triumph as I arrived so did my case – perfect timing!

To collect a rental car at Boston airport you have to get on a shuttle bus so before I braved the cold windy and wet weather, I popped into a rest room, before dragging my cases to the curb side and waiting for a bus on route 33. Eventually once arrived and a large group piled in, loading our luggage onto the various racks, and just as we pulled away I discovered that I didn’t have my phone with me – in a horrible moment of clarity I realised that I had left it in the rest room, on a small shelf.

There was nothing to do than to stay on the bus and do the whole lap of the airport again, until I was back at Terminal E, with no great hope of being united with my phone. However the arrivals lounge was very empty, obviously with no other flights having landed since mine, and I hurried back to the rest room, looked at the metal shelf and had my faith in human nature restored, for there lay my phone.

I once more waited for bus 33 and once more was taken to the rental car center, where I was due to pick up a vehicle from Hertz. At the desk I asked for a four wheel drive car, as I will be using this vehicle throughout the trip and there maybe snow and ice along the way. After a little while of computer tapping, the Hertz agent said that she had an All Wheel Drive car, if that was ok? She said it rather apologetically as if she was truly sorry that she didn’t have a 4-wheel drive, only an all wheel drive one, and I confirmed that it would be fine, mentally chastising myself for the lapse in my conversational American language skills.

The paperwork completed I made my way into the garage to discover who would be my friend, protector and companion for the next three weeks and found a rather smart deep metallic red Nissan Rogue. I loaded my cases, set the satnav unit which came to life instantly and informed me that the journey to Worcester would take just under an hour. I sped through the subterranean road system of Boston and then passed Fenway Park on my left before leaving the city behind me. The drive seemed reassuringly familiar and certainly not as if it had been two years before I last made it. The newly downloaded map still requested that I turn the wrong way at the intersection where the hotel sat, and as I have done for so many years, I ignored it and drove to the car park of the Beechwood Hotel.

Having checked in I had a little time to unpack and hang my costumes so that the worst of the travelling wrinkles would be gone by Saturday’s performances, and then had a short rest before meeting up with Gary and Judi Vaillancourt for a ‘welcome home’ dinner. It was lovely to be with my old friends again, and once more it hardly seemed as if it had been two years since last we gathered.

Outside the windows snow began to fall, and it really seemed as if Christmas was coming back to life.

Homeward Bound

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Charlotte Airport, Kansas City Airport, London

On Monday morning it was time to head home and once again I was resigned to spending the best part of a day, and night, in a mask. The first job on waking was to complete all of the paperwork and make sure all of the correct forms were uploaded to the VeriFLY app (I wonder who it is that decides what to capitalise and what not to?). Yes I was vaccinated, Yes I had purchased an approved testing kit which I would use within two days of returning to the UK, No, I was not travelling from a Red Zone country. When at last everything was approved and uploaded I was ready to pack.

My costumes had aired (a polite way of saying dried out) and They went in to the cases (one in each) first. Then I stuffed my top hat with socks, so it wouldn’t bet crushed and wrapped the thick green woollen scarf, that Liz knitted for me a few years ago and which features in the show, around the outside of the hat. Everything else was carefully folded and packed until the only thing left was the wooden cane which just fits diagonally across the top of my large case. Kimberly arrived to pick me up at 10, and soon we were on the road to Kansas City Airport. There is something very reassuring about KCI, all of terminals are built to the same pattern, a large semi circular concourse, with check in and very limited retail on the outer side of the curve, and the gates on the inner. It is an old airport and frankly there is not enough room for the facilities that the modern traveller expects, but it IS KCI, there is no other airport like it, and that is a wonderful thing. However the area around the terminals is now a construction site and in two years’ time a big new sparkly terminal will be opened and KCI will be just like a hundred other airports. Kimberly and I said our goodbyes and I began the process of getting home. On entering the airport I was greeted by a notice on the automatic door: ‘DOOR CLOSED FOR THE SEASON’ What a strange thing! I made my way to check in and as has been the norm it was suggested that I check my carry-on roller case all the way to London, so I just had my leather shoulder bag to take with me, and felt rather sauve and wordly-wise. Security was busy, but I’d left myself plenty of time and was able to grab an early lunch before boarding my first flight, to Charlotte. In fact the flight was delayed by 30 minutes, which didn’t effect me but was causing great consternation among those with tight connections. I sympathised fully, for I have been in the same situation on many occasions and know that feeling of complete helplessness.

The flight into Charlotte was utterly beautiful, at one point the sun caught a river to create a silver slash across the landscape, and as we made our final approach the fall colours were stunning. You can always tell when you are flying into a Southern city for all of the schools are dominated by huge football fields, and usually not simply fields but stadia.

As we landed those passengers who had tight connections were panicking about getting to the correct concourse and gate in the few minutes available to them, and bemoaning that their bags would not make the flight. It seemed very unfair, therefore, that my connection for which I did not have to rush was at the very next gate.

Charlotte used to feature a great deal in my early touring years and it is an airport that I have always loved, the main concourse being like a giant conservatory complete with trees and white rocking chairs. Somehow there seems to be a slower pace in the airport which befits the South. In those early days there used to be a small booth that sold writing equipment and I would always pick up boxes of ink cartridges for my Waterman fountain pen (this in the days before Amazon Prime) there.

On the concourse there were advertisements for ‘Mini Suites’, which I have seen before, but this year the focus of the marketing had changed and tapped into to passengers’ current needs, for the sign proclaimed ‘Unmask and Relax in a private suite’

I had two hours to wait, so I bought myself a coffee and a pastry and sat in a rocking chair watching the world drift by.

With forty minutes to go before the flight I returned to Gate D5. There was quite a crowd and nearby a young girl was telling an older couple that this was to be her very first time on a plane. Was she nervous about flying, asked the couple. ‘Oh, a little,’ came the reply, ‘I keep thinking what might happen if things go wrong’ That was a cheery note for us all to board the plane to!

I got settled into my seat, and heard the same girl a row or two behind telling her neighbour in the next seat that she was excited to be going to England, at which he, a Brit, commenced telling her everything she should see in England, Scotland and Wales – he spoke in a very dull monotone voice, so maybe her first experience of flying was not destined to be an altogether positive one. On and on he went, his flow only interrupted by the safety announcement which she wanted to watch.

We took off on time and as the night was clear I could easily see Philadelphia as we flew over, and then New York City with Times Square glowing brightly and the black void of Central Park beyond it. Food was soon served and then the lights were turned down and I slept on and off through the night.

It was still dark as we made our approach to London. The wheels touched British soil, then bounced into the air again before settling down for good.

I have just over two weeks at home and then I will be flying to Boston to begin a whole new chapter of my adventures.

Why Kansas City?

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, Dickens on the Strand, Mid Continent Public Library, The Dickens Holiday Fair

As the final ‘Bonus Blog’ of this part of tour I would like to address a question that came up at every venue during my time with the Mid Continent Public Library System, ‘Why do you come to the Kansas City area?’ The answer dates not only back to the very start of my USA touring in 1995 (although from one conversation yesterday I now think it may have even been 1994), but in fact even further back to 1974 when the first seeds for my attachment to Kansas City were sewn.

The story starts in Galveston Texas where members of the Galveston Historical Foundation, an organisation dedicated to the preservation and regeneration of the historic downtown area of the island city situated in the Gulf of Mexico a little south of Houston, decided to stage a Christmas festival to raise funds and awareness. Feeling that the festival should have a theme the Foundation decided to utilize the name of the main thoroughfare The Strand, which took its name from the street in London. So, a Christmas festival with an attachment to London led to the marketing team tapping into America’s love affair with Charles Dickens and A Christmas Carol, the festival would be Christened Dickens on the Strand, even though Charles never wrote about, or visited Texas. The temperatures in Galveston in December are warm and pleasant so it was decided to make ‘Dickens’ an open air event, with the city sealing off a large area to traffic. Vendors would be able to rent space and booths to hawk their wares, whilst a number of stages were erected so that there could be a constant programme of music and entertainment throughout the fair. Actors in exquisite Victorian costumes were booked to walk the streets and a Grand Parade would be held with Queen Victoria and Prince Albert at its head.

Visitors to the festival would have to pay an entrance fee to attend, but the board took an inspired decision to give a 50% discount for anyone wearing Victorian costume. Everyone likes a bargain, so it was assured that the streets would be filled with young urchins in caps and tatty waistcoats and pretty maidens in recycled bridesmaid’s dresses. Back in 1974 My father’s cousin and Charles’ great grand daughter Monica Dickens was living on Cape Cod and accepted an invitation to attend the inaugural festival thereby beginning the tradition of there being a member of the Dickens family at every event. After Monica the ebullient Cedric Dickens took over for a few years after which he passed the baton on to my father, David who attended with my mother at his side. During his tenure Dad presided over a great banquet during which he would regale the guests with readings from A Christmas Carol. My parents also took pride of place in the Grand Parade, siting in a horse drawn coach waving to the cheering crowds. Mum and dad loved their time at Galvaston and embraced the America zeal to do things on a giant scale with relish.

During his time at Galvaston Dad met with some folk either came from Kansas City or had relatives there, I don’t recall which, but who were keen to stage a similar event there. Of course the December weather in Missouri is not quite as reliable as that on the Gulf coast, so the new event would be held indoors, with the large downtown Convention Center being picked as s suitable venue. To ensure a suitably Victorian atmosphere the Missouri Rep theatre company where brought on board to build huge sets representing London street scenes, as well as costumes for Dickensian characters. Dad was invited to be a consultant on all things Dickensian and through himself into the project. The Dickens Holiday Fair launched in 1993 and Mum and Dad were there, at the centre of everything, signing, reading, parading.

In that same winter, back in England, I was making my first steps into the world of performing the works of Charles Dickens as I gave a single reading to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the publication of A Christmas Carol. I so enjoyed the project and received praise for it, that I looked at reprising the event the following year. My father was excited and proud that I was beginning to show some interest in our illustrious forbear and kept a close eye on my progress. Little did I know that he had an ulterior motive, for he and my mother had decided that their international travelling days were over and he was keen to promote my new show to both festivals. During the summer one of the senior board members from Gaveston was visiting England and Dad invited her to lunch. When the date was fixed he asked if I could arrange a performance of my show somewhere as a sort of audition. I found a venue, a private room above a pub, and a goodly crowd attended. I obviously did a decent job for I was invited to attend the next Galvaston Festival and on the back of that The Holiday Fair in KC also came on board. Details were sorted out by a good friend of mine, Paul Standen, who acted as manager to this fledgling performer, and soon I was boarding an American Airlines flight to Houston.

As this is not a story of Galveston I will simply say that I thoroughly enjoyed that festival and when it was all over I flew from Houston to Kansas City for the second leg of my adventure. Although I arrived on Sunday the Holiday Fair was not due to to open until the following Friday meaning that I had four unfilled days. There was a certain amount of media work to do but the organisers of the Holiday Fair rather wanted me out in the community spreading the word, rather than lounging in a hotel suite doing nothing, so they contacted the board of the Mid Continent Public Library and suggested that I make appearances in a couple of branches. I could do a reading as well as talking about the weekend’s event and try to encourage guests to visit.

My first evening’s commitment was at Raytown Library and I remember it vividly for there was an awful ice storm that night. I had never seen anything like that before and across the city fires were breaking out as power cables came down under the weight of ice. I seem to remember that we did a bit of Q&A on that occasion too and the same question that inspired this blog post was asked – ‘why did you come to Raytown? I answered: ‘The weather!’ The marketing team at Mid Continent had done a good job and there was a reporter and photographer at the library and the next Morning at breakfast my phot dominated the front page of the Kansas City Star’s arts section.

And that is how I came to perform in the Kansas City area and specifically for MCPL. Sadly the Holiday Fair didn’t survive and folded a year or two later, but I still kept coming back to Missouri and Mid Continent Public Library service is now my longest running venue.

I wrote the first half of this post at KC airport and then put the laptop away for my flight and as we soared towards our cruising altitude we passed over the top of the Convention Center, with its distinctive four towers, where it all began for me.

Travelling Back to the Mid West

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Aldi, American Airlines, Charles Dickens, Ebenezer Scrooge, LOnghorn Steakhouse, Mid Continent Public Library, Pelaton, Soccer, Steve McQueen, The Great Escape

On Thursday morning it was time to wake early and leave the Philadelphia apartment after a most enjoyable stay. I had done most of my packing during the previous afternoon, so it was just a case of finishing off and closing up the cases. At 6am I ordered an Uber cab and shortly afterwards Ivan helped me load my cases into his car and off we set to the airport as a beautiful sunrise lightened the skies. Ivan was from Honduras and on discovering that I came from England he instantly starting talking about soccer – congratulating the England team on their performances at the recent European Championships, ‘they are a young team, will only get better!’ His loyalties (soccer-wise) lay conflicted between USA and Honduras, ‘I don’t mind which wins, but Honduras were leading USA last time and then the manager changed 4 players – 4 players! And they lost!’ Next onto the World stage: ‘So Barcelona or Madrid? Ronaldo or Messi? Boxing, you like boxing? The English crowds at boxing are amazing!’ I was beginning to wish that I had touched the ‘No Conversation’ tab on the Uber app! However the drive was short and he was a very friendly and nice man.

I checked my cases in and, as previously, was given the offer of checking my smaller roller case for free as once again the flight would be full and there was only limited overhead bin space. As my boarding group was 7 it seemed unlikely that I would find room so I checked both. From bag drop to security and the line was long, very very long. Not only was the zig zag area marked out with extendable fabric barriers completely packed, but another line disappeared way up another hallway and what was worse the line didn’t seem to be moving. This was exactly why I had left the apartment at 6 – Philadelphia airport often has these long lines, especially for American Airlines flights which, as Bob had pointed out the evening before, all seem to leave at the same time of day. Eventually a representative of the airport came along the line saying that he had opened another checkpoint over in concourse A and it was empty, just walk down those stairs, along the rail platform and back in the next door, and it was clear. Many people bolted for that option, with the result that for those off who elected to remain the queue started moving very quickly and in a matter of minutes my ID was being checked and I was taking my boots off for the security check. Gratifyingly the lady in line behind me said ‘what great socks!’

The next priority was breakfast but there were no good restaurants or grills open so I made do with a Breakfast Sandwich from a burger joint. Not desperately appetising but it filled a hole. At the table I got out my laptop and wrote the previous day’s blog post which I finished before it was time to board. Sure enough when group 7 was called the bin space was already used, so I had made the right decision earlier. I settled into my seat and prepared for a 2 hour flight back to the Mid West. As soon as we were airborne I scrolled through the entertainment options on the American Airlines App and decided to watch the classic war film, The Great Escape, with Steve McQueen, James Garner, Dickie Attenborough, David McCallum Charles Bronson and many other great names from that time. For some reason The Great Escape was often shown as a Christmas film in my childhood, I don’t know why, but it was lovely to watch again. The movie passed the time very effectively and as the pilot brought us in to land, so the iconic Steve McQueen motorcycle chase was taking place and as our wheels touched the earth so The King of Cool’s wheels left it as he jumped over the barbed wire border between Germany and Switzerland.

It was strange to be back in the Mid West just a few days after leaving it, normally I would drive from Kansas City to Omaha or from Omaha to Kansas City, but because of this years’ disrupted schedule and the original plan to appear in California, the journey that would usually take me around 3 hours had actually taken me 5 days to complete.

We taxied to the terminal building and at baggage claim I was reunited with Kimberly Howard who has been bringing me back to the Kansas City area for more years than either of would care to mention!

There was no pressure on the day, as my first show for the Mid Continent Public Library Service was not scheduled until Friday evening, so Kimberly drove to Liberty, where I stay, and we exchanged our respective news. Once more the weather was beautiful,. clear and sunny and the colours of fall foliage, not something I would usually associate with Missouri, were absolutely stunning. Apparently there are warnings of bad weather coming, but for now it was beautiful.

I got checked in to the Hampton Inn which is so familiar to me now, and dropped my bags to my room before joining Kimberly again for lunch at a nearby Panera Bread, where I had a delicious avocado salad. While we ate we discussed the coming days and once again the question came up of how to organise the question and answer sessions, especially at the larger venues. I told Kimberly about the plan Bob and I had come up with regarding getting people to write their questions as they arrived for the show and then having a hosted session at the end, and she liked that idea and decided to instigate it.

Lunch over I returned to the hotel and Kimberly went to the office to get everything finalised for the next three days, My first job was a good old laundry session! I got a roll of quarters from the front desk and spent the next couple of hours making repeated trips from the third to the first floor where I loaded and unloaded the washer and loaded and unloaded the dryer until I had a bag of fresh clothes to see me through to the end of the trip.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was my own, and after doing some more blog writing, I lay on the bed and watched TV. It amazed me that the Christmas ads are already on the screen and dear old Ebenezer Scrooge has been pressed into action again, on this occasion by Peloton fitness equipment. Grumpy old Scrooge finds happiness and gets his mojo back by working out on an exercise bike. Incidentally I have also been sent a link to a Christmas ad from the UK for Aldi supermarkets, The story is set ‘In Dickensian Days’ and is called A Christmas Carot, featuring as its central character a miserly banana, called Ebanana (a rotten banana). He has been made jealous because all of the other delicious produce from the supermarket is devoured with relish, whilst he is left alone on the plates. It is beautifully made with some excruciatingly awful puns along the way. I shall post the link at the end of this so that you can make your own minds up about it! Not only are Christmas ads being played but also Black Friday sales are being flagged up already!

Afternoon drifted into evening and it was time for dinner decisions. As I didn’t have a car I would need to walk to a restaurant (I could have ordered something to be delivered to the hotel but having been in the room since lunchtime I rather wanted a change of scenery). Fro previous years I had remembered that there was a Longhorn Steakhouse on the strip mall, so I walked down there only to be told that there was a 40 minute wait for tables, unless I didn’t mind sitting at the bar, which option I took. Whilst sitting I got into conversation with a guy who was doing the same, and we chatted again about soccer (it turned out that both of our daughters had taken the sport up this year). Eventually his wife arrived and a table was found for them, so I continued my dinner at the bar alone. A Ribeye steak and baked potato where perfect, and as I ate I wrote a few notes on a pad for possible book ideas.

It was still quite early when I returned to the hotel (of course I had lost an hour in flying from east to mid) so I watched a little more television before beginning to feel tired. I knew that by sleeping early I would wake early, but that’s OK. Another day came to a close.

Here is the link for the Aldi ‘A Christmas Carrot’ ad

A Transition Day and a Pleasant Surprise

Tags

A Christmas Carol, Byers' Choice, Charles Dickens, Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biogrpahy of a Rail Crash, Philadelphia

Sunday 8 November was a transition day during which I relocated from Omaha to Philadelphia – no shows, no appearances, no work.

After such a successful day’s performing on Saturday (indeed, I would go so far as to say that it was one of the best day’s performing that I can remember), I found it very difficult to get to sleep when I returned to the Element. My head was buzzing and the adrenaline still flowing late into the evening. I sat up eating Mario’s beautiful food and watched one of the later Harry Potter movies (I’m not sure which – possibly The Order of the Phoenix), before I drifted to sleep. Unfortunately I was awake again at 1, and then again at 3, which was extremely frustrating. To add to my woes the clocks went back an hour, so when I woke for a third time at 5am, it was actually only 4! (The clocks went back a week ago in England, so I’d already been through this once)

There was not much to be done – no lines to rehearse or costumes to collate, so I read for a little before getting up and starting to pack my cases ready for my flight out of Omaha, which wasn’t due to leave until 1.30 pm. When I dressed I made sure that I put on some of my brightest and most colourful socks (from the perfectly named Happy Socks company), so that when I removed my boots at the airport later that day I may bring a smile to the TSA agents and my fellow passengers.

At around 7.30 I had breakfast and then returned to the room where I watched a little more Harry Potter (one of the channels was running a Potter weekend, showing all the films back to back over and over again).

As 11 am was check-out time, I left room 615 and went to the lobby where I boarded the hotel shuttle bus, driven by the effervescent Ray, who regaled me with tales of other guests and passengers, some of whom had dared to criticise his driving style…..I kept quiet. The drive to Ebbley Airfield is only about twenty minutes, and soon I was pulling my cases into the small airport. At the baggage drop counter the lady not only took my large blue suitcase (which I was relieved to discover came in under weight for domestic travel), but also suggested that I checked my smaller roller case as well, as the planes I would be flying on were small and were fully booked meaning that overhead bin space would be limited. Usually I keep the small case with me at all times, as it has a costume in it, meaning I can go on stage even if the large case is lost, but as on this occasion I had no performances scheduled for a couple of days I decided to trust Delta Airlines and therefore gave myself an easier journey through the airport.

The line at security was long and I was glad that I didn’t have my roller case, as a little metal cleat holding the shoulder shoulder strap of my leather satchel (a gift from Liz l, embossed with my initials) had broken meaning that I was having to carry it under my arm, rather than slung casually and rakishly over my shoulder. Sadly my bright socks didn’t garner any attention or raise any smiles – but I tried!

Ebbley Airport is not a large hub so there was no long walk to my gate where I settled down and waited. I had a small salad for my lunch and read some more of my book, and watched people until we were called to board. The flight was indeed very busy but everyone dutifully observed the mask rule in our little sealed petri dish. The first flight lasted only an hour and took me into the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St Paul – a conurbation that is very well known to me, having performed in the area many times. As we flew in I could even recognise the apartment block where Liz and I had lived when I performed ‘To Begin With’ a few years ago.

The layover at Minneapolis was only a short one, so I had to make good progress through the airport from concourse C to F. I had time, though, to stop at a store and purchase myself a new water bottle (having left mine at home in the UK), and a small metal carabiner which was the perfect item to effect a repair to my bag.

I arrived at gate F1 just as boarding was commencing and once again the flight was packed to capacity. I would be flying to Philadelphia and this plane was larger and more modern, boasting seat back video entertainment. I scrolled through all of the choices available to me and in the end decided to re watch the movie version of Downton Abbey – it was very strange to know that I will be performing A Christmas Carol in that very house in just a few weeks time. The film is all a bit silly, but fun nonetheless.

Outside the window a most beautiful transition from day into night was occurring, with a red and gold sunset shrinking from a bright midnight blue in the centre of which Venus shone brightly next to a slim crescent moon.

Having admired the scene I turned my attention back to the film. Here is a very curious trivia fact about the film of Downton Abbey – did you know that the running time is exactly the same length as a flight from Minneapolis/St Paul to Philadelphia? You didn’t? Well, you do now! The closing credits were rolling just as our wheels touched down on Pennsylvanian soil.

As I walked through the airport I discovered why all American passengers are so diligent at wearing their masks, a recorded announcement reminded us of the fines imposed for violation – $1,500 for the first ‘offence’ and $3,000 for a second or subsequent infringement. That’s steep.

At baggage claim I was met by Bob Byers for the first time on this year’s trip – Bob and his wife Pam have managed my American trips for many years and are very good friends, as well as colleagues. This year’s trip had of course been planned around the Pandemic and it was inevitable that some venues would fall by the wayside and that was the case with a contract out in California, which should have occupied these few days. Unfortunately the venue in question didn’t feel that it could provide a suitably safe environment for their staff and audiences and regretfully cancelled the booking. This left Pam with a rather large hole to fill, but the Broad Street United Methodist Church in Burlington New Jersey leapt at the chance of having me back, hence my journeying to the East. Bob and Pam have an apartment in Philadelphia and had very kindly offered it to me as a base during these days. Burlington is not far from Phily, so I could easily drive there on the show day (using Bob’s car – more of which on another blog post), and I could play tourist on my free days.

When Bob and I arrived at the Condo, right in the very heart of the City, Pam was waiting for us and had cooked a delicious dinner – much needed – and we all sat and chatted and caught up with each other’s news.

There was a lovely surprise waiting for me too, for on the kitchen counter lay a copy of ‘Dickens and Staplehurst. A Biography of a Rail Crash.’ My book! My very first book! And it looked like a book, it felt like a book: it was real! Dickens and Staplehurst was actually published on October 28th, but the publisher had not yet sent me a copy, so this was the very first time that I had actually seen it. I felt a surge of pride holding the volume in my hand.

Now, like any author, the writing of the book is only half the job – I have to sell copies too, so here is the commercial: When I perform ‘The Signalman’ I have always introduced the piece by talking about Dickens’s involvement in the great Staplehurst rail crash that took place on 9th June, 1865. Dickens was truly fortunate to survive and wrote many letters detailing the shock he suffered in assisting with the rescue effort – 10 people were killed and many more seriously injured. I have always been fascinated by the many stories behind the accident – how did it happen, how could it have been averted, who was involved and what was learned? And a couple of years ago I started to dig more deeply and researched more diligently, and now the results of that research are available to all.

Copies of the book are available via a link on my website geralddickens.com, or if you would like a personalised signed copy you can order them direct from me by sending me an email to gerald@geralddickens.com.

Back in the apartment Bob and Pam made sure that I had everything I needed, said their goodbyes, and drove to their main home in Bucks County.

I lay in bed thinking that I could now add ‘author’ to ‘actor, director and producer’ in my publicity materials and with that happy thought I drifted off to sleep

The Man in the the Mask

Tags

Boeing, Heathrow Airport, Home Alone, Mask wearing, Omaha

On Thursday 4th November, or November 4 for my American readers, I began a tour of America for the first time in two years. I must be honest and admit I am feeling slightly trepidatious about the undertaking, in that I am not sure of the wisdom of gathering lots of people in enclosed spaces and I am very aware that if I were to contract Covid during one of my performances the consequences would be most detrimental not only to me, but to other venues on my tour and back in the UK as well. So I will certainly be taking all of the precautions that I can take during my travels.

The process of flying actually began two days before I was due to get on board an aeroplane, as I had to take an official PCR test which, if negative, would earn me the necessary ‘Fit to Fly’ certificate. I duly attended a testing centre (actually a small suite in an Oxford hotel taken over by the testing company) and having answered lots of questions and given my passport details, I was invited to self-administered the test, which seemed a bit cheeky having paid £125 for the privilege! Within 24 hours the negative results came through and I knew that I was good to go.

As a household we all woke early on Thursday morning as I had booked a taxi for 7.30 to take me to Heathrow. In our living room my bags, which I had packed the night before, stood as if in anticipation of adventures ahead, along with a mask which would be my close companion over the next 22 hours, or so.

The cab arrived a little early so we all said our goodbyes. The driver introduced himself as Alex and I introduced myself as Gerald, and with those formalities completed he selected 1st gear and headed for Omaha (well, Heathrow Airport to be pedantic. Traffic was light at that hour and we made excellent time, so that I was in a relatively quiet Terminal 5 with plenty of time to spare. My check-in and passage through security was equally speedy, so I had plenty of time to kill before making my way to the gate. I had a coffee, bought some disposable masks which looked as if they wouldn’t be as hot as my fabric ones on a long flight, and generally mooched around until gate B37 was flashed up as being where British Airways flight 295 was waiting for me.

Since the beginning of the pandemic almost two years ago the USA has had a ban in place for passengers from the UK (you may have read my previous blog post about the special dispensation I needed to be allowed to fly). A few weeks ago the US government announced that they would be bringing that ban to an end, but the date they settled on was 8 November, meaning that my flight was very empty – mostly made up of passengers travelling on American passports. I had carefully selected a window seat, A41, but bizarrely it seems that on a Boeing 787 row 41 is the only row that does NOT have a window! It is not an exit row, and there doesn’t seem to be anything particularly special about row 41, it looks just like all the other rows but maybe someone in the design office at Boeing wanted an early lunch one day and forgot to sketch a window onto the blueprints before heading off to the cafeteria. Fortunately there was plenty of space on board and I could move forward a row from where I could enjoy the view of the beautifully swept up wing of the 787 Dreamliner.

After a slight delay as cargo was loaded we pushed back from the gate and we were soon soaring over Windsor Great Park and into the clouds before bursting out into the clear bright blue above. I watched movies, read magazines, played games on my phone and the hours gradually whiled away. Current regulations mean that masks have to be worn for the entire duration of the flight, except when eating or drinking, so the relief provided by beverage and food services was huge. Every time a cup of water was offered I grabbed at it, and lingered over it as if it were a fine Claret, relishing the freedom it gave me.

Eventually (after a couple of Robert Downey Junior Sherlock Holmes movies, an episode of Top Gear, a documentary about the Duke of Edinburg and an episode of The Durrells), we began our descent and breaking through the clouds got a wonderful view of the Chicago skyline. We were soon on the ground and taxiing to the gate bringing the first leg of my journey to a close. Of course there was no relief from the mask wearing, for it is also mandatory to wear one in all airport spaces, so on it stayed.

I joined the serpentine queue to clear immigration and for once didn’t mind that time was ticking inexorably onward, for my connecting flight to Omaha was not due to depart for another 5 hours or so – anything to pass the time was welcome, even if that meant standing in line wondering if I would actually be admitted to the country. Any fears I had were swiftly swept away as the agent stamped my passport and waved me on my way. After retrieving my large suitcase and then immediately entrusting it to the safety of American Airlines once more, I took the transit train to terminal 3 and made my way into the concourse (I’m fairly sure it was the one featured in Home Alone) and found a quite seat at an unused gate which would become my home for a few more masked hours.

By this time it was around 4.30, with my boarding due to commence at 8pm, I decided to remain in my seat until 6, when I would go and search out something to eat – that would neatly split the time in half, and give me another excuse to breathe some fresh air again. I read, I went through some lines, I played backgammon on my phone and I wrote the first part of this blog post until the relief of 1800 hours arrived. I found an Italian grill and ordered a Caesar Salad and a Lasagne, which I ate slowly, spending about an hour at the table. When I finally decided that I could remain there no longer I replaced my mask and went to the gate to await the call to board.

The domestic flight onto Omaha was busy and I slept through most of it, waking just in time to witness our final approach and landing at the Eppley Field airport (which always sounds more like a baseball ground to me.) As soon as my case appeared on the carrousel I ordered an Uber cab and by the time I had walked to the garage designated for such transportation, my car, driven by Peter, had arrived. And so my day ended as it had begun in a taxi. I had been travelling for about 22 hours and never have I been happier to get into my hotel room at The Element Hotel, which is so familiar to me after many years of staying there, and taking off that bloody mask!

I unpacked my costumes so that hopefully some of the creases could hang out overnight, for I was to be straight to work on Friday morning, with my lift due to arrive at 8.30. No rest for the wicked, as the saying goes, and the 2021 tour starts here.