Ok as promised here’s a little blog about getting home, etc.
Welcome home, welcome
Peters & Lee 1973
Come on in, and close the door
You’ve been gone, too long
Welcome, you’re home once more
So we finally arrive home at 1am. It’s raining and we drag the cases and our arses across the threshold. A quick enforced cuddle with the urchins and it’s off to bed with us. We’re not getting much out of them but we sense they’re happy to see us.
I had a sleep on the plane, but one of those wake-up-every-five-minutes kind of sleeps. Lisa didn’t sleep on the plane but now we’re back in our postage stamp of a bed she is out for the count. Eventually I nod off. Morning arrives and get up to get back in the routine. Monday is bin day.
Anyway let’s go through the last part of Day 8, the journey home:
MUNICH – The Lost Hours
Remember where we left off? This pic may jog a memory:
Yeah that’s it. Having a cosy rest stop at Schuhbecks. Look at the smile on Lisa’s face. Behind the camera I’m grinning too. It’s all worked out ok.
The End.
… But you know better right? Yep this is the moment when the luck runs out.
It started with a piss. Never thought it would come to this. Well she did just have a hot chocolate 😏.
Lisa is desperate and we find das klosett. From my experience (of the Gents, I hasten to add), there’s no denying that these are decent standard public toilets. Germans are germ-less. There’s a little foam squirt box to allow you to sanitise the seat before you offer your batty up. They didn’t lose two world wars to have parasitic buns you know.
And that’s when I stop taking pictures. As far as I’m concerned, the blog is over. Done. Finished. Finito. So this last account will be mostly words. Apart from one picture of a sandwich. A sandwich I didn’t fully enjoy, not because of the taste/smell/look but because it was rudely interrupted. And it cost me €6.90 from a guy that was an obvious Lenny Kravitz wannabe.
Lisa finishes her toilet business and exits. I point to a green wall. “Touch it” I say. The wall is made of loads of tufty little plants. Satisfying.
We go to the shops, I buy a sandwich, salami and salad, and Lisa heads to Duty Free. I munch and move, move and munch. Lisa asks my opinion on chocolate. We go to pay, cashier is old and lacks charm. Lisa pays in cash and we exit shop. Munch and move.
Lisa grabs my arm, suddenly panicked. “Where’s my phone?” She frantically checks her bag, then the duty free bag. I ring it, it is calling but then voicemail. We start retracing steps. Toilet first, it’s quite a walk. Ring, nothing. Green wall. Check bags again. Back to shop. I ask charmless Frau if she’s seen a phone. She smiles and says she can’t help. I think she’s secretly relishing this.
A frantic search of the chocolate shelves. Nope. Ring, nothing. I still munch and move, cool as a cucumber. Lisa is flapping. Back to the toilet, Lisa searches there again. Then we begin to think where would someone hand it in? The business centre is nearby, we ask receptionist. Nope, try the service centre, she says. We pass a bureau de change. We ask in there and she says try the service centre. We follow signs, another long walk. No one there except two youngsters on mobiles which they haven’t lost. I ring – nothing.
Time has passed and my attentions turn to the flight home. It’s thunder and lightning outside, complete with torrential rain. I tell Lisa we need to reprioritise. Check the board – gate had been announced: H14. We haven’t even seen any H gates. Then I see a sign to H and we follow, en route I email Munich Airport help desk. We follow signs and they lead us to a train. Cucumber is not so cool, where the shitting piss is this gate? Jump on train, it’s a one minute journey, phew. This part of the airport is heaving, with shops and bars. Bloody hell.
Still following signs to H. Now passport control, god damn. We’re through quick, and then a long walk down an endless corridor of gates. We find H14, and there’s time to sit. A man announces that if we don’t have a little white sticker that we get one or we won’t get on plane. We queue and get our stickers added to boarding passes. We go back to seat. My stomach gurgles. I need to fart but there’s too many innocent victims around.
A women behind us shouts out aloud in a pure Brit white-trash agitated voice “I CARNT MOVE” aimed in the direction of white sticker man. She is wheelchair bound and as big as a house. Her wheeler helper is over there with sticker man. He relents and comes to her.
I head to toilet. Squirty squirty sanitise foam. Oh god I’ve got the executive shits. It was that bloody sausage and gherkin thing I reckon. Empty after a full on arse-piss, I leave.
“I CARNT TAKE IT, WHY IS THE PLAYNE IN NOORONBERG. I DONT EVEN KNOW WHERE THAT IS” exclaims Wheelie. She is pushed down the hallway thankfully. I check Lufthansa website. Plane is delayed 20 mins. I order a cab for our return.
The plane had indeed been diverted to Nuremberg, due to the storms. The 20 mins is incrementally added to as time goes by. Interspersed with trips to the toilet for more fecal purging. A big queue forms, we stay put. After about 20 mins someone asks an official “Why is everyone queueing, is the plane going?”. Official shrugs his shoulders. Gradually, they all sit down again. Wheelie is far enough away, thank the lord.
The crowd is mostly British and mostly annoying. A nice lady explains to me she and her family on standby after EasyJet screwed them over in Barcelona by cancelling their direct flight to UK. They got this far to Munich but if plane is full, they are stuck in Munich and there’s no hotel vacancies.
Eventually (2.5hrs late) we get a hint of a thumbs up and an instantaneous queue is formed. I catch that groups 1&2 are boarding, so we do the right thing, but a very unbritish thing, and skip to the front. There’s still a blockage caused by the usual twat-brigade of people going before they’re called, which just slows down boarding but THEY DON’T GET IT.
We get on, wait to get to our seats because of twat-brigade, and settle in. I dread Wheelie getting the seat next to me. I don’t see nice lady, so plane is full and they are seemingly screwed. A nice old boy sits next to me, we chat for a while and then I do my sleep-and-wake-up-every-five-minutes thing. I have tummy cramps because I need to fart but am in fear of the shart, given recent experiences. This goes on for while flight. FYI Plane left about 10:45, for a 1hr30 flight.
Epilogue
We land in LHR. Passport control is a breeze with the electronic scanners. Arriving in LHR always seems like you’re going through a back entrance.
Baggage pick up says carousel 6. Luggage is sitting in groups next to the various carousels. The same 20 cases do 50 loops on 6. I check loose cases. I check labels on loose cases. I check other carousels. Lisa says a beardy man is kicking off. I phone cab (again) who is in car park, he’s cool – I’m paying for the car park he’s says. I wander over to carousel 4, see our cases and grab. FFS. I shall the word and we G.O.
Our Danish cabbie is very outspoken but we enjoy a good debate about Russia, gas, amongst other things. At one point he says “Boss, if you believe in that you believe in Father Christmas”. I say I do. We’re home. This really is the end. Now get on with your lives.
Cargill Travel Blog 
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