How I nearly missed the sodding plane

Well, it’s idiot o’clock as far as my body is concerned, but 2225hrs according to the clock in the not immensely appealing 24hr coffee shop in Santa Barbara where I am swigging Earl Grey in an attempt to retain some essential English-ness in the face of relentless Californian laid back charm.

If points were to be handed out for efficiency, punctuality & organisation, then I achieved nul points this morning. I was deep in a particularly splendid dream which I seem to remember involved whippets, cooking and driving very fast ( three of my all time favourite things) when my flat mate woke me, concerned that it was 8am and I was still a snoozing ball under the duvet.

The utterly bloody alarm on my Blackberry hadn’t gone off at 0630hrs as set, so I was left with an hour to bicycle to my storage container, drop off an envelope at Soho House, shower, finish packing, clean my room & throw my 70lbs of luggage down five flights of stairs. Not ideal, all things considering.

Anyway, I did it. Within my allotted hour too. I do feel rather sorry for all the pedestrians that I nearly mowed down on my bike as, fresh from the shower, I sprinted the wrong way down the Ninth Avenue bike path to Manhattan Mini Storage, hair spraying water like an enthusiastic puppy.

But then I got the fear about how long it would take to get to the airport and blew my economy plans by throwing $50 on a cab to JFK. Still, I made it. Even if I did have to blow dry & curl my hair in the bathroom at Terminal Four. Glamour, glamour, glamour: that’s all my life is.