The Last Furlong

Comments on the race of life.

Walking the train, running for the plane

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The Furlongs are in France. The journey over here had three stages.

Getting late,

Getting later

Getting very late. (another post).

The Furlong son-in-law took us to the station. We were early. The train was late. Because it was full, and late! they put four extra coaches on it. It raced into the station arse about face. We were booked in carriage H. So we were waiting at the end where H usually stops. So the train looked like this – Engine H G F E A B C D. We couldn’t find H and so with the whistle blowing, we leapt into D. 😦

It took us half out train journey to get down the swaying jam-packed train to carriage H and the LAST seats in H – the very last seats – no joking.

We were exhausted before we even got to the Airport and late.

Mr Furlong – a jovial old man with white hair and twinkling eyes, of clearly Viking stock got selected for a full body search and complete security check – everything off – everything out – everything sniffed, analysed and examined – including toothpicks!. 😦 The smiley faces are because I can’t find a way to put pictures here. I’m typing laboriously on a strange computer in Word, or something? I think the security at the airport have a quota for the day, so they choose old people because they are already tamed. Last year I got chosen. Bonnie and Clyde of the North!

We got late – well later than the late we already were. Leisurely coffee, lunch or even a small snack or a brief sit-down had to be forfeited – we ran. Or ran-walked. We ran walked FOR MILES ’cause the plane to Nice was already boarding.

Jet 2 being the cheap flight for common people always have the worst bay in the airport!

We ATE on the plane – the packet of crisps was nice!

We got to Nice on time.


Author: Elizabeth

I'm someone also pounding the Path, just like you.. I'm retired, going into Old Age and loving my life. I'm hoping to remain happy and well for as long as possible. Old Age is not SO bad - yet!

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