One sent a letter home regarding much AND including the Heathrow yarn.
Many a reply came back wondering what The Bloke was doing throughout.
Mostly he was doing this!
But then afterwards he found One a comfy lounge and a strong cup of tea and a few soothing and even commiserative words to help calm One. He is a good man.
Here is One telling the Good Mary Mother of God herself (or is that Saint Bernadette) that it is nooo good, no amount of Hail Marys or Our Fathers ever did help - One was bold with a quick tongue at St Joseph's primary and One was bold with a quick tongue at St Rita's secondary and strike me down dead if One is about to go all weak at the knees in the face of a frisk even by one of Her Majesty's servants. Strike me down dead. (Her Majesty the Queen of England that is.)
Even the Leprechauns have vacated this little beauty on Inis Mor, the biggest of the Aran Isles off the West Coast of Ireland. It is grey and bleak and rugged and particularly uninviting - but every day the tourists stream in. Today we walked and walked. Tomorrow we cycle further West for bigger ruins on a bleaker hillside. Looking forward to that.