I went to Heathrow today to see my goddaughter and her family off to Vancouver. Her parents were there too - I went to uni with my goddaughter's mum - and it was great to see them as they live in Shropshire and we don't see each other very often.
I don't know if you've ever been to Heathrow, but the one thing you need is a comfy pair of shoes because, to get from Terminal 3 to Terminal 5, you have to walk a very long way on the travelator, up and down in lifts, down corridors, onto the train (a rattly, fast, scary, underground experience, rather like being zoomed through the earth on the back of a jet-propelled worm), off it, up in a vertiginous glass lift that made me feel distinctly queasy when I looked down and saw how high up I was, and finally, after a couple of text messages to find out where we all were, I was there.
We had lunch at Carluccio's. I had the most boring pasta ever, tooth-bruisingly al dente with hardly any sauce and no free side salad (we had one last time), a hideously sweet sorbet, and a table full of drunk men next to us who upset my gorgeous two-year-old great-goddaughter so much that she climbed off her gran's knee, pointed at the 'nasty men' and skedaddled to the far end of the table. The man nearest me kept shoving his chair into my legs and throwing his arms behind his head and bashing me with them!
Saying farewell, not having seen them for a year and not knowing when I would see them again, was a real wrench. Perhaps it's time to steel myself for the long flight to Vancouver. By the way, if Daddy looks grumpy in the photo, it's just because he was worried about getting the bags checked in in time. Such things don't bother the pretty head of almost-two-year-old.) Her birthday is in ten days' time, bless her.
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