As I think I’ve mentioned before, 2022 is the year of doing-things-originally-planned-in-2020, including a couple of much-postponed weddings. And so we find ourselves in Manchester awaiting a flight to New York tomorrow for a couple of weeks with the other half’s family – the first time we’ve seen them all since 2019. It’s been the usual scramble to get away, concluding with assembling all the pot plants that will need watering in one place for ease of access, and wondering just how on earth one unwary purchase of a spider plant about five years ago has turned into the Temperate House collection at Kew. Apparently, they breed. Who knew?
Flying from Manchester to avoid the start of the Scottish school holidays price hikes north of the border seemed like a very good wheeze a few months ago, before the ‘flight chaos’ headlines started, but we’re staying in a hotel within sight* of the airport and don’t have a massively early flight, so we should be able to weather at least a normal amount of chaos (from my mouth to God’s ear, and all that). We’ve already managed to get this far without being stymied by train cancellations (the Trans Pennine Express service around our neck of the woods having become largely theoretical), COVID, or family emergencies. It’s starting to feel as if maybe, just maybe, we might make it off on holidays (assuming we can tear ourselves away from the breaking news, with the government apparently collapsing around our ears.
Assuming we make it, stand by for adventures in New York and the midwest, with undoubtedly some cycling along the way…
* But not, it turns out, within easy walking distance unless you like bolting across four-lane highways and hacking your way through a bus station.