Returning with sweat and tears

Waking on Saturday morning I was understandably nervous. The weekend ahead was going to be stressful, tiring, and emotional. I had to get back to the UK, pack a van, take it down to my parents, get the train back to London, clean the flat, do the check out, then come back to Budapest. Thankfully my brother-in-law and best friend would prove utterly invaluable aides to my efforts.

Still feeling worse for wear, I got myself to the train station on a very sunny Saturday morning, and boarded the train. I was so unconvinced of Sally's guarantee that I could use my pass for the journey, I texted her to check once more. The ride took just 25 minutes, and with no guard to check I fortunately didn't have to test the theory. At the airport was one of those hideously long queues for check in. I only had a small bag with me, because I was planning to bring lots of stuff back, not the other way round, and quickly realised the benefits of online check-in.

After about 15 minutes of moving very slowly I noticed people appeared to be coming in at the side of the queue, and got very frustrated. In the end I shouted at one couple, and told them how rude the whole thing was. They didn't care, which left me more perturbed. When I got close enough, I saw a rather useless sign that said there were two queues, and, long story short, I was in the wrong one. Useless. Oh well, at least I made my flight.

Till that point I'd put off food and drink, my stomach being a little sickly. On the plane I realised though that in fact I'd been dehydrating myself, and with nothing in my tum, I was actually exacerbating things. I ordered a bacon baguette, and was much relieved. A quick clean in the tiny loo, and a slurp from the sink, and I was almost decent.

By the time we landed I was prepared for the big push, and very pleased we'd gotten there early. Little joy though when they had to bus us to another terminal. I got back to the flat, and was a little shocked by everything dumped in my room. The careful boxes of stuff I'd packed before I left had been swamped by all my other crap, which Sian had piled on top. Thank goodness Div had hired a van! Outside I found most of the plants I'd planted weren't doing so well, but was hopeful they'd burst into life soon. I went to unlock my bike, and set it free, since there was nothing else I could do with it. I laughed a little, but was also appalled to find someone had already cut my chain off and replaced it with their own. Not only that, someone else had tried to cut into this new one. C'est la vie.

It took far longer to put everything in the van than I'd planned, and we realised at best I'd only manage an hour with my family. Train services in the UK being what they are, I was buggered, whichever way I looked at it, since I couldn't even manage to get an early service back in time on the Sunday morning. Div drove the van for the two and a half hours back to Dorset, by which time it was dark. I had to grab some bits out of the back, much to the chagrin of my dad, who refused to help, cutting down further on the time I got to spend with him, my mum and my sister. Scarlet, her youngest was still up, but Poppy was in bed. Bugger bugger.

After wolfing down the food dad had prepared we raced back to Gillingham train station and I was off again. The guard on the train did that normal passive-aggressive deal, where they tell you they shouldn't really sell you a ticket, but will anyway. You can't have it both ways mate. Apparently I'm supposed to track down the guard when I get on board, anyone who gets on without a ticket is. How freaking ridiculous is that!?

By the time I got back to London, it was already nearly midnight. I packed my stuff as quickly as I could, and laughed off the change to British Summer Time depriving me an hour's sleep on this worst picked of weekends. I had to turn on the radiator in the wee hours, because the one blanket I had left wasn't really enough.

In the morning I baked a little breakfast for Sian and I, while trying not to make a mess in her beautifully cleaned kitchen. She'd really been such a star, cleaning pretty much the entire flat on her own, as well as packing up half my stuff. Bless her. When the check-out woman arrived though, it turned out it wasn't quite clean enough. She was a great gal though, and allowed us to finish it off there and then, saving us any professional cleaning fee (except a carpet shampoo).

Suitcases in hand, along with a bottle of champagne, we departed 57 Chiswick Village for the last time. We sat on the lawn for two minutes, just to get our bearings, before heading off for Turnham Green park, where we would try desperately to down the bottle of champagne, before realising it was impossible. I got a couple of Starbucks coffees, which hit the spot a little more accurately, and headed to Paperchase to pick up a diary. I wanted something pretty to make notes in, and keep myself sane back in Budapest. To my amazement, though it was only March, the only diaries they had were for the academic year starting in July! Ah well, c'est la vie.

Sian and I went our separate ways, and I started my trek home. The day before I'd realised the easybus ticket I'd bought was useless, because it got me to the airport too late, so had to make do with public transport. Bus replacement services are never fun, but quite scary when you actually need to get somewhere at a certain time. I just caught the train from West Hampstead Thameslink, but didn't have a chance to buy a ticket, so got a penalty charge when I got to the end. Bugger bugger bugger.

I asked the woman at check-in whether the spark lighter I'd bought on ebay would be allowed on the plane. She sent me to security, who confiscated it. Bugger!

I proceeded to spend most of the change Sian and I had divied up on calls to my parents and my sister. It was lovely to hear their voices, even if the payphones were deeply frustrating. They won't actually allow anyone outside to call them now, so you have to spend all your money. Bastards. Grrr. They've obviously never seen that bit in Love Actually about the airport arrivals gate.

Finally on the plane home, I felt deeply lost. Why was I going back, and leaving all this? The tears came, I sat with myself. When we landed though, my first thoughts were about getting home to my new flat, and I felt much better. On the train back into the city, a guard checked my pass, and it was okay - Sally had been right all along. Soon I would have everything unpacked, and a little more of me over here.

It had been a difficult weekend, and I wasn't looking forward to going back to work, but at least I'd managed everything I had to, and could have a nice relax in just five days.