The Family Flint: Flint to Kidlington in one day

Well, what a day. Actually, it was suspiciously easy. After the scare I got yesterday (well, Sunday - it's after 1 AM Tuesday as I type this on my bed in Kidlington, north of Oxford - at least, I hope it's my bed - more on that later) today went like a breeze. Yesterday I finally looked at the itinerary for my flight and discovered that I flew from Flint at 6:25 AM, arrived in Chicago at 6:35 AM (no, not a ten minute flight - time change from Eastern to Central), but then didn't leave Chicago until nearly ten AT NIGHT. A layover of over 15 hours in a place I could drive to comfortably in 6. How had I allowed this to happen, you ask? Well, it turns out that the company we booked through (V_y_m_ - the "a"s have been ommitted to spare blushes) likes to change the itinerary at random, and while they tell you they've done it, they do it so unobtrusively that I didn't notice. They did it twice and presumably each time increased the layover. Anyway, long story short, I called them up and they forwarded my complaint (along, supposedly, with my cell phone number) to their re-booking agency. Then the swimming described earlier and the sheer good fortune of being in the office on a Sunday at the precise moment when a nice Indian-sounding man (who appeared to be called Solomon) called in. He turned out to be amazing - patient but dogged and got various people from various airlines on the phone, always asking for their names and extensions so they knew they could be tracked down if unsatisfactory, and got my flight from Chicago moved over 12 hours forward. And so to today: I couldn't sleep well at all (I'm covered with some kind of either hives or bedbug bites and I think I cracked a rib playing basketball, but mostly I was anxious about the trip) so I was up by 4 AM and out the door by 5. All the flights were on time, the transatlantic flight landed early in Heathrow, I sailed through the passport check with absolutely no line, arrived at Heathrow Bus Station just as the bus to Oxford was about to pull out, and walked round the corner from Gloucester Green bus station in Oxford on to a bus to Kidlington. Ah yes - about that. The only snag with my changed flight was that there was no way I'd arrive in Oxford in time to get into Mansfield college (where I'm supposed to be staying and where the conference is) before 11PM when the Porter's Lodge closes. This never used to be a problem in my undegraduate days because you could hop over the back wall - but actually you can't even do that nowadays because last time I was here I found out they'd put all kinds of fortifications up. So a new lodging had to be found. Our trusty secretary (who felt a bit responsible for the 15 hour layover snafu) lept into action and booked me into The Highwayman Hotel in Kidlington (she informed me over email that I read in Chicago Airport) I was worried they wouldn't let me in when I got there, which would likely be after 1 AM (turned out to be just before). She checked and said they assured her I would be able to get in. So: the bus driver (who had the thickest Scottish accent I've heard since Gregory's Girl) dropped me off as far up Banbury road as he went, assuring me that no buses went further (although perhaps he meant in the wee small hours, because I walked by plenty more bus stops) and instructed me to keep walking up the road until I crossed a bridge and there it would be. And there it was. A pub. Dark as the grave. But I went round the back and a door was open. Nobody was around, but there was a staircase right there and at the top, the door to room number 4 was open. So here I am, hoping that this is my room and I won't be turfed out. Although, if I am it won't matter because it will have served its purpose by then. Now, as the wifi in the Highwayman is very spotty (although better than the non-existent-albeit-promised wifi on the Heathrow-Oxford bus) I'm writing this on Wordpad, and will now try to post it.

Space age toilet hygiene in O'Hare.

Still a few bugs in the system. (The mirror is supposed to double as a source of ads. At least Microsoft still has a foothold somewhere.)

American Airlines - for that nineteen eighties flying experience.

The bus stop the Scottish driver abandoned me at at about 12:30. Fortunately all of Kidlington goes to bed at dusk, apparently, so nobody was awake to inform me that they don't like Gingers round 'ere.

After seemingly a good deal more than the quarter mile walk Angus McDriver suggested, I arrive at the Highwayman. Note complete absence of any lights on.