Volcanic Ash v. My Guilt Complex

So Easter hols = lots of fun = lots of posts. Unfortunately the only one that's finished is the most boring post ever, but hey. It's also the most recent, which means a lot of backtracking when the others are up.. Never mind. Here we go.

I went home* last week to visit my family. It was great to see them, but I did have a more serious reason for going - my nephew was having an operation, and I didn't want to leave Mum (who worries like a champion) on her own that day. It wasn't a major operation, but it did require a general anaesthetic. Last time my nephew had one of those he was horrifically ill, so I can understand her concern. My family are all on a bit of a descent into total deafness - and my poor baby nephew is accelerating past us all at a scary rate. This is his second operation to try to restore his hearing. So far, fingers crossed it worked.


*I suppose I should say "parent's home", given that I don't live there anymore. But it's still my home! I'll just be like the Queen.

But, the weekend was fast approaching and with it the end of the Easter hols (boo!). I was seriously running out of time to fulfil my good intentions of being fully planned for the first two weeks back after the hols. Time for me to look at returning down south in time to get organised (ha) for my final six weeks of training (21 lessons left with year 8!).


My first flight home was cancelled; I rescheduled. Not a problem – plenty of time, safety first, etc etc.
My second flight home was cancelled. I rescheduled. Inconvenient, but can't be helped.
My third flight home was cancelled. Seeing a pattern emerging, I declined their offer of yet another rescheduled flight.

That third flight was supposed to be this afternoon. The last opportunity to get back before Monday morning. The last direct train to my local station left an hour before the flight (no, I didn't check this earlier, when I could actually have done something about it). The only alternative was a seven and a half hour journey involving five trains in total and a £197 ticket. Pfft. No thanks.

So instead, I'm sailing down the M6 at 110mph (obviously not behind the wheel). Struck by a major guilt complex, I couldn't bring myself to take tomorrow off school and get the direct train home – even though I have no lessons and will spend the entire day watching my school laptop load, freeze, restart, and freeze again. Madness, I know, but I just couldn't do it. I couldn't phone and say 'I can't get in' until I'd tried EVERYTHING. So I did what every normal girl would do – I called on Daddy. Actually... that's not really true – I'm not very good at asking for favours either. Dad offered. I declined (the whole guilt thing again). He asked what else I would do. I accepted. Now he's driving me from one end of the country to the other, and returning home again ready for his work (in Scotland!) tomorrow, in the space of one afternoon. Dad's Audi was stolen from the driveway a few weeks ago, so we're currently in his new Passat. I really like the new car, although Dad as a die-hard Audi fan isn't too happy. The Audi didn't half make you travel sick, though – this is MUCH better. I would never have been able to type blog entries/read Anthony and Cleopatra in the A6.

I am going to owe Dad a LOT of chocolate and beer after this. I'm going to be sending them over by the bucketload for the next six months.