I have always maintained that is madness to take wee kiddies on a plane unless absolutely necessary, and our eight hour flight to the US of A confirmed it. We boarded a plane that, if I'm honest, had seen better days, after a visit to Virgin Airlines V-Room. (A total waste of cash for anyone considering it.) The in flight tellys refused to work and although I had been looking forward to viewing 'Breaking Dawn Part One' while I dined on my steamed mush, having to watch the first half hour three times in a row becomes a bit wearing. A reasonably quiet and pleasant flight until a poor wee lad of about two decided it would be a good idea to part with his entire stomach contents all over himself, his seat, the aisle (how he did that I will never know as he was sitting in the middle of a row of four seats) and his mother. I will confess had I not been a parent I would have probably thought 'Idiots, for trailing a kid long haul anyway.' Changed days, I felt totally sorry for the whole lot of them. Sitting in a pile of puke for at least two hours is not my idea of a pleasant journey and not one I would want experience. It didn't get any better. We arrived to a two and a half hour wait at immigration where they took everything but our knicker sizes. I have never seen so many crabbit two year olds and psychotic parents in my life. Back the queue I spotted our wee pukey pal, clad in only his pants and a too big t-shirt. Poor wee soul.
We finally escaped to find our car after goodness knows how many snarled exchanges. Travelling brings out the best in folk. Got to the car hire desk and S went to sort out our wheels. Looked round and spotted L in floods of tears. Upon asking why I was informed that 'I just want to go back home Mum'.
Good Lord, we hadn't even left the airport. As we did, a large sign read 'Welcome to Orlando' Aye, right, thanks, can we just find the hotel now.......?