As always my packing was done well in advance, and several times over - in my mind. The actual physical packing however, was left to the morning of my departure. I knew exactly what I wanted to take and even knocked up a light-weight sarong the night before departure using some fabric I'd picked up in Borneo. Therefore it was the morning of my departure when I checked the camera, kindly borrowed from my parents. Camera, check; zoom lens, check; Camera charger... missing. A quick phone call identified the missing battery charger as being plugged in at my parents' house, 200miles away.
A search of the big electrical stores revealed that the charger for this particular camera battery has been discontinued. Even the second hand retailers suggested an online purchase, clearly not an option with 6hours before the flight. The only remaining option was to accept the offer from my parents of meeting them at Heathrow - a 2hour journey.
The race was on. We all needed to arrive at Heathrow at about the same time to avoid increased parking charges. My flight was showing an hour earlier departure than previously advertised, and the online check-in facility was "unavailable".
Rushing from the house (leaving Bradley for the dog walkers and then my sister to collect) I dashed for the bus with the usual 10mins available for the 16min journey. I had my day sack on my back, containing my handbag and other flight essentials. My hold luggage (including a supply of Branston pickle as requested by the Thai tour guide - a friend of José's) was in a small wheeled case bouncing along behind me. Bouncing that is until 1/4 of a mile from the bus stop when the handle snapped. No time to return home to change bags it was fortunate that this holdall also has straps, so over the arm it went.
Once on the bus the online check-in system was back up and running. I checked in to both outward flights in time for the first tube element of the journey. Then it was a case of sitting back and letting the journey take however long it would.
The timings worked well. I met my parents, acquired the camera battery, had a hug and my first 'solo' journey since José's death was underway.
From Heathrow I was flying with Malaysia Airlines to Kuala Lumpur, the same journey José and I took for our honeymoon. Our last proper holiday together. I was a little anxious but nothing untoward, just feeling alone.
Things went smoother than previously, with no turbulence and an on schedule arrival to make my connecting flight (with less than an hour between scheduled flights there wasn't much room for error).
Landing at Bangkok airport at 8pm it was still 32°c which felt promising for the week to come. The airport was as clean and quiet as Kuala Lumpur.
I cleared security quickly, no visa required. Oddly my flight number wasn't listed but two other flight numbers from KL landing at the same time were off-loading at carousel 12. So I waited at carousel 12.
As on our previous trip with Malaysia Airlines hardly any baggage appeared, and none was mine. Hop over to Lost Luggage and there's no surprise by the staff there. They efficiently take my overnight details and inform me that my bag (which hadn't made the quick transfer) would be delivered to my hotel in the early hours.
As recommended, I took a metered taxi from the efficient ticketed queuing system straight to the hotel and checked in (tip: make a note of the hotel phone number so the taxi driver can call ahead for specific location). The hotel called the airport and confirmed my booking. The tour guide and owner of Nutty's Adventures; whom I had now dragged from his room in order to make last orders for cocktails at the bar; arranged that I would collect my bag in the morning.
A quick catch up with an old friend of José's and her fiancé who were also on the trip and I was creeping to my room with two cocktails and a plate of rice inside me in a futile attempt not to wake my travelling companion who had arrived earlier in the day. In case my bag failed to arrive I washed my underwear in the sink and then attempted to hang it on the balcony.
In a strange dark room I was anything but silent. The language barrier made it difficult to explain that my luggage and I had become separated and therefore explain my strange behaviour.
As quickly and quietly as possible I slipped in to bed, still in my travelling dress, and tried to sleep. My body clock was disrupted so sleep was a bit evasive as you'd expect. I hadn't long reached the world of slumber when at 02:55 the phone rang, waking the room. My companion leapt joyfully from her bed and flung open the curtains, turning with a look of surprise and confusion that it was still dark. My rusty non-existent French did nothing to help as I rustled up "nuit mon sack" - more insulting than helpful I expect!
I left the room and spent a frustrated couple of minutes pushing the lift call button and wondering why the light was going out immediately when the lift was sat two floors above. I was seemingly oblivious to the second lift behind me, opening and closing its doors every time I pressed "call", and eventually I took the stairs.
Sure enough once I made it downstairs, there was my bag. Deposited in the middle of reception. My case and I were reunited in what must be congratulated as a great delivery service, although it is quite an expensive solution given that Malaysia Airlines have separated me from my luggage every time I have flown with them.
All's well that ends well and my day of travelling had finally come to an end. Tomorrow I would see Bangkok.
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