I have a sudden and unexpected day off. The possibilities yawn away in front of me. All the things I could do. All the things I should do. The question is, will I do any of them?
The day has come courtesy of my parents and Thomson. They flew back from their holiday in Cyprus last night. They were originally meant to land at 6pm. This was delayed to 10 o'clock, which was then put back to 11.35, then 2.06. My brother was supposed to be collecting them from the airport, but as the delay started to approach the early hours and he had a meeting he needed to attend at 9 o'clock this morning, I offered to take the day off and do the airport run. It doesn't take much excuse these days for me to take a day off from work. So there I was at 1.30 this morning, setting off for Luton, having had a few hours sleep on top of a lovely chicken curry made by my daughter and consumed at about 8 o'clock, which gave me chronic heartburn.
I actually find trips to the airport in the wee small hours exciting. Being awake and heading out while the world around you sleeps. Arriving at a building blazing with lights and bustling with people. Sitting in Costa Coffee watching travellers spew out of the sliding doors. Wondering where they've come from and where they're going. Its a mixture of subversiveness and being cocooned - a secret life going on underneath the radar. The feeling it evokes for me is akin to two things: the first is sitting at my desk at school writing behind a barricade of books so no-one could see what I was doing; the second sitting in a tent on a campsite, with the tent entrance zipped up.
I'm sure a psychologist would have a field day with that one!
The question that still remains, though, is will I do something constructive today, or will the endless possibilities so confound me that I end up doing nothing at all?
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