This is a record of a rather boring day. At least, it was boring for me.

On Wednesday morning, I woke up with my heart going hammer-and-tongs in my chest with my ribcage. My nerves had reached a peak, and I really rode an emotional rollercoaster until I was about two hours into my flight.

Thankfully, John and I had an unremarkable flight. Flights aren't something to be remarked about.

We were transported to the airport in a Lincoln Town Car courtesy of Niagara Airbus, the local shuttle service. John and I were flying KLM which is of course the Dutch national airline.

At Terminal 3 at Toronto Pearson, we amused ourselves by reading, drinking coffee and water and attempting to locate batteries. My present novel is Memoirs of a Geisha, by Arthur Golden. We flew on a large airliner across the Atlantic, an experience I have never particularly cared for. They really are the large cattle cars of the sky. However, the KLM staff were fantastic, and John and I are also pleased to report we were served a delicious meal. Yes, that's right, good tasting airplane food.

After transferring to a flight out of Amsterdam, we arrived at London Heathrow, with all its implicit difficulties. After clearing customs with the magic words "dead grandmother" John and I gathered our luggage and rental car. We only had a few scary moments, including when John stalled the car merging onto the M4, trying to turn off the windshield wipers, and getting the mobile to work.

We escaped unscathed, and after being up for almost 24 hours, we withdrew to the house of John's brother, Hugh, and ran some errands. (Mum, if you're reading this, I booked the Holiday Inn on Hangar Lane)

We then slept, and showered. I'm about to run down for dinner, so my long winded airport prose can end.