Friday May 8th The alarm on my smart phone went off at 23.45, I had not slept even when Anthony suggested I should. I could not stop myself feeling watchful. I quietly dressed and made sure that I had everything packed. I was outside the hotel for 23.55, where I waited in the sodium lighting with my chit from the hotel in my hand, my luggage held tight by the handles in the other hand. The taxi was white and it arrived across the road just after midnight. I got in the rear seat where I was dimly aware of a young man driving and his wife was sat beside him, their conversation sounded like some minor disagreement in which neither cared whether won the argument as long as they had the last word. I enjoyed the late night light show the city had to offer. The journey took over in thirty five mins, I had expected it to take an hour. My luggage went through the security x-ray machine first thing as I entered at arrivals. I offered to show him my papers but he waved them away, suggesting 'Later other policemen will want to see them, not me'.
The departures hall was pleasant, with some traditional decoration in the stonework of the walls. From the information on the electronic screen there were perhaps only a few more than a dozen planes departing that day. It was quiet, I looked at the post cards, saw that some of them were rather good but there was no way of buying any of them at that time of day. I settled into my half read/half dipped into book 'Bowie, Bolan, and The Brooklyn Boy' -Tony Visconti and read solidly from the start of the book and re-read passages I had skimmed before, until near 3am, occasionally moving seat to give myself exercise.
When I approached one policeman he waved at the check in desk where there looked like there might be activity soon. There was; my boarding pass got stamped and the lower half of it was torn off. With the boarding pass stamped I went back to the policeman who saw all my documents and let me through to another two policeman who between them were thorough in checking my documents, Covid pass, passport, boarding pass, etc. I looked at the food store and wondered about what they served, decided it was junk, as was the contents of the duty free shops-no character in the goods at all. I did wonder are these goods chosen for their lack of character, as if one can never show too much contempt for a tourist?
The departure was on time and undramatic. I slept through the emergency/life jacket instructions and woke half way through the three hour flight. To amuse myself and tune out of the noises being made around me I tried to photograph the mountains of Morocco from the air with my smart phone, I am used to taking several pictures of the same thing in the hope that one of them will be 'the one'. When I download this lot onto my laptop I somehow doubt any of them will be 'keepers' but taking them passed the time, and there is always the delete button.
When the plane landed I thought that I would be delayed enough getting through airport security and passport checks etc that I would miss the first bus to leave the airport, which was I due to leave soon after my flight landed, but I was proved wrong. The queue at the bus was long enough that it's departure was delayed long enough for me to catch it, in spite of my online booking being for the next bus. 'Thumbs up to good timing' I thought.
It was only in Belfast, two hours later, that life became familiar and uneventful, the slow blur of events that I recognised from before the time away.
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