Well after my last post (they called the flight) we all sat on the aircraft for a while and the pilot then told us that:
- the reason for the delay was that Heathrow was busy (duh) and because our aircraft had to be towed to the gate across from the other side of the airport, it was stuck in a traffic jam;
- and now that we were on the aircraft, ATC had announced that due to a wind direction change, all flights waiting to take off west-bound were now having to taxi the length of the runway to take off eastbound;
- so we would have to wait on the tarmac until a gap appeared.
and so we left the ground precisely three hours late.
But all credit to our cabin crew who, once again, provided a flawless customer service experience.
By the time we were airborn, my plans to write emails and ezine articles were replaced by fatigue – so my in-flight entertainment became a combination of reading (see below) and watching a movie (the Clint Eastwood directed Iwo Jima dramatisation – Japanese with sub-titles but gripping and beautifully acted).
I think I have read less than 6 books that have changed my life permanently – and yesterday’s in-flight reading will be another one.
Timothy Ferris’s “The 4-hour work week.” sounds like a cheesy Californian attempt to cash in on the “get happy with my plan” fad and, although I don’t subscribe to all of his lifestyle views, the underlying messages of the book are thrilling.
I raced through the pages and will return with a highlighter pen later this week.
I have already written some emails this morning to people I want help from on implementing some of his ideas.
A fantastic “tear up the rule book” document – much in the same mould as Thomas Leonard’s “Portable Coach”.
Arriving in Montreal at about 10.30pm local time, I thought my travel problems were over.
After successfully navigating the usual slap-faced immigration official, I assumed that I’d be straight out of the airport door.
The baggage belt breaks down, with half the luggage from the flight somewhere in the innards of the system.
So a further 45 minutes ticks by as the survivors from the flight stand around, making cell phone calls to people stood outside waiting for them.
I arrive at a deserted Hilton downtown, just after midnight and collapse into a bed, burned out.
This morning I am trashed – a lazy first day of acclimatisation.