The alarm went off at 6:30 a.m., and to my surprise, I didn’t feel too bad. By 7:15 the car was reloaded, and we set off for the short 15-minute drive to Sunny’s house. He was his usual cheery, chatty self as we caught up while moving our bags into his car. He had a pickup to do after dropping us off, so we didn’t linger long — just enough time for the usual jokes and goodbyes.
For what I expect is probably the last time, we were driven to the Virgin Upper Class terminal, where the lovely staff took care of our bags and checked us in. The private security line had no queue — bliss — though my luck ran out when my hand luggage was flagged for further inspection. Apparently, a humble pack of cards had triggered the scanner alarm, so everything had to be unpacked and examined. Karen stood by grinning, delighted it wasn’t her bag under scrutiny for a change.
Mildly irritated, I marched us straight to the Upper Class Lounge, where we soon settled into our favourite quiet corner. First order of business: champagne. Second: tea and Eggs Royale. Both arrived promptly and hit the spot perfectly. So well, in fact, that we celebrated by ordering… more champagne and toast.
Before long, our gate was announced. We strolled off merrily, although the endless corridor made me wonder if the plane was parked somewhere in Gatwick rather than Heathrow.
Karen was pleased to see we were in Group 1 for boarding. Less pleased, however, to find that roughly half the plane appeared to be “pre-boarding” with wheelchairs, pushchairs, and extended families in tow. Then, without warning, the gate staff abandoned all sense of order and simply unleashed a general boarding free-for-all. Karen, using her elbows with professional precision, ensured we were through the melee in good time.
We soon settled into our little “cupboards” (as we like to call them), one behind the other. I may have indulged in another glass of welcome champagne before take-off.
After a bit of blogging, the main meal service arrived. We’d both pre-ordered — I went for the Chicken Caesar Salad, which was perfectly fine, though the lettuce had seen livelier days.
My first film was The Luckiest Man in the USA — almost watchable, but it fizzled out with a disappointingly flat ending. Then I pressed a few buttons to transform my seat into a bed and managed a decent nap.
Later, we spent some time perched on the sofa in the bar area, drinking tea and chatting with a fellow passenger about Disney and all things Florida. It passed the time nicely before I watched The Penguin Letters, which turned out to be a surprisingly good inflight film.
And with that, we landed in Orlando.
Unfortunately, the biggest disappointment of the day wasn’t the jet lag — it was football. I turned on my phone hoping for good news from Carrow Road, but there was none. I’m not sure whether the owner thought he’d achieved his aim with his latest attempt to “appease” supporters, but it certainly didn’t appease me. Football isn’t baseball — there’s relegation as well as promotion, and right now we’re bottom (ignoring Sheffield Wednesday) for a reason. We’re simply not good enough. Not before the injuries, not after them. And with poor coaching and even worse tactics, it’s hard to see things improving soon.
The pause on the ground redevelopment is another joke — albeit a project I actually support. The club didn’t say it was off, just “paused for consultation,” which really means they should have done the explaining before announcing it. Hopefully, they’ll plough ahead once they’ve finished “reconsidering.”
Back in the real world, Orlando airport was a breeze. We were through immigration in five minutes — four of which were spent chatting with a very friendly officer. Collecting the hire car was just as quick, though setting up CarPlay took considerably longer. This time we’ve got an almost brand-new Mazda Hybrid, which should be interesting.
The 110-mile drive to Bradenton started smoothly in daylight, but roadworks on the I-4 slowed things down. The sunset was glorious — apart from the fact that I was driving for an hour directly into it, squinting all the way.
We pulled into the Holiday Inn Express at exactly 8 p.m., pleased with our timing. After a quick bit of unpacking and sorting ourselves out, we were in bed by 9:15. It had been a long day — but now, finally, the holiday could really begin.
