Boxed In

We are flying back over the pond on Boxing Day in England. That would be December 26 for my American peeps. We thought the day after Christmas was a brilliant day to take to the skies as we assumed folks would be too busy shopping to cram into our flying tin can home. We were able to score really affordable fares, so surely we were on to something. The husband had lived over on this side before, and knew the customs of the English. He assured me the majority of the population would be enjoying drinks and rich brandy-laced puddings with neighbours and friends. Therefore and ergo and so it would seem, flying the day after Christmas should be child's play.

Husband was correct! The majority of the English will indeed be visiting each others homes and sharing mince pies and brandy-buttered Christmas cake. That would include train station managers, train conductors, bus drivers, and the entire employment pool of the Heathrow Express. In others words, once we get to Heathrow, we will indeed be among the few, the proud, and the sober. We just have to get there. And that may prove to be our undoing.

I looked on Google maps. It will take us just under twenty-four hours to walk the 73.3 miles to Heathrow. I guess it may take a bit longer with luggage. Glad my luggage has those wheelie thingies. The maps did advise us that this route may be missing some sidewalks. Since no buses are running and the penalties for drink driving are harsh, I think we would be okay trudging down the motorway with our wheelie luggage.

Walking to Heathrow may just be a bit too ambitious. Besides, Father Christmas might not know to look for me on the M5. We searched the world over for a rental car. Not a problem! Whew! For the low, low cost of double the normal rate, and by the way, we would have to reserve it for a minimum of three days, we can definitely rent what looks to be just under the size of a dune buggy!! yay. sigh.

Our options did include going by taxi to Ashford International Terminal, hopping on one of a handful of trains that are actually operating on Boxing Day, and with only FIVE additional transfers use the one or two underground lines that are operating - WHILE  wheeling those dadblasted  suitcases. We would arrive at Heathrow tired, disgusted, defeated and in need of a shower. Merry Freaking Christmas.

Betwixt the three of us, we have two undergraduate degrees, one masters, one PhD and one course in progress. Surely we could find a viable, reasonable solution for  getting to a major international airport on a day to celebrate boxes. Horses were out. I had a bad experience with a hormonally challenged little filly deceivingly named Matilda in my childhood. Who names a devil horse Matilda? But, I digress. We started scouring the interwebs for inspiration. Skating, skiing, and scootering all were tabled.  Neither of us has a motorcycle license, and I am pretty sure a boat just flat won't work. What now?

Turns out, there is a small dependable group of independent taxi drivers in our humble abode. John started at the top of the list and started calling. We were a bit taken aback at the going rates for traveling on  cardboard carnival day, but at this point we were pretty much ready to pay any amount just to make our flights. We can always eBay our Christmas gifts.  The first three drivers on the list were taking the opportunity of this national  package party holiday to go to someplace warmer and were not available. Each gave another number to call. Finally, we got to the last number on the list. VIOLA! We have a driver! And we will not  have to eat chips and gravy the entire month of January because she is charging us the normal rate! Cue angels singing, please.

Our trip is saved. We can now enjoy our Christmas feast knowing the next day one single person in England is willing to give up alcohol soaked fruitcake to take us to the airport. Now THAT kids, is a true Christmas miracle!