This pair could have been me. I arrived back at Heathrow on Friday morning, knowing that terminal five was open, but also knowing that I wouldn't be using it. I'd had an e-mail from BA a few days earlier drawing my attention to the fact that despite the opening of the new terminal my flight would still come in to terminal four. I remember being quite disappointed at the time because I quite relished the chance to see the new state of the art facility. Imagine my disappointment now.
Just to rub it in terminal four was a dream; I've never seen it emptier. There was barely a queue to pass through immigration and the luggage from what was a pretty full Jumbo Jet appeared within half an hour. Ours was the only carousel in use. Inside the terminal I had a very short wait to secure a hire car, then the minibus that took me to the car-park contained just me and the driver. "I seem to be getting a personal service this morning," I remarked. "They've all gone off to terminal five," explained the driver, sounding as if he regretted missing out on all the fun.
So what could have been the most miserable of returns to the UK turned out to be a surprisingly smooth one. My mood improved further as a grey, damp drive around the M25 was enlivened by Charlotte Green giggling at the end of the 8am news on Radio Four prompting much support but also predictable complaints from those who presumably thought she did it on purpose. It reminded me of the morning on Five Live Breakfast when the then sports presenter Fergus Sweeney made the mistake of reading out the Portsmouth striker, Kanu's full name (first name, Nwankwo), and quickly regretting it.
And so far I'm not finding it too strange to be back. Catching up with family and friends has been lovely, of course, and after a day at the BBC yesterday I can count one "have you been away?" and several "I bet you didn't want to come back at all, did you?"s. I'm conscious not to go on about my travels ad nauseam, because I know they worked, I know they went fantastically smoothly, I know I saw some wonderful places and met some memorable people, and I know I could be seen as insufferably smug if I keep repeating such things.
So all I'd conclude is that if you're lucky enough to have the chance to rebel against the unwritten rule that says you have to work yourself into the ground before you claim your pension, then do it. I seem to have survived to tell the story.