Belfast Craich

Photo © Anne-Marie Minhall

"We've only got tea, coffee or orange juice I'm afraid .." 

The sentence I did not need to hear on board from an air steward on trolley duty after I had spent nigh on six hours airside at Heathrow Terminal 2.

The flight I was originally on was cancelled after a puncture in one of the tyres. "Don't you have a spare in the back?" I was tempted to inquire. So .. back on the bus to T2 the 38 of us went.

No idea about what would happen next. I was blessed though, as my trip was for work and I had a great couple of people looking after my welfare (remotely). There was talk of booking me into a hotel at T5 and then an early morning flight the next day. The only thing was .. I couldn't get out of T2 despite every effort.

Time for Pinot Noir and Mozzarella Flatbread in an airport bar come café.

Another plane was eventually found, (at the back of the enormous Heathrow sofa probably,). Take off ensues on a propellor aircraft.

INTO A THUNDERSTORM.

I eventually landed in Belfast, albeit at a different airport, at 2330.

Fractious, tired, a tad worn down, I arrived at my hotel for the night only to be informed that: "The bar is closed .." Luckily, two of my colleagues were still ensconced within it. The door flew open and I was greeted with: "Anne-Marie, we nipped to the supermarket & got you some Rioja .." 

Dear reader, I may have cried.

I had 17 hours in Belfast in total. Would that I could’ve lingered longer. Next time.

AMM