Turkey Ham?

So, despite my silent, major panicking, we made it back in plenty of time.  We even lounged around for an hour or more reading the Sunday papers and watching TV before having to set out for the airport.  No hold ups on the way there and JR deposited me in plenty of time, I'd much rather be there early than racing through security looking hot, (in a bad way,) and suspicious. 

I'm in the airport bar with a Pinot Grigio and soda on one of those high bar stools and high single legged tables, in reasonable distance, (if I squint,) of the departure board.  I'm just writing to you about how panicked I'd been about if we'd make it back from London in time, when H texts me to check I'm at the airport because she knows how panicked I'd been about making it back from London in time.  I text back to say yes I'm back, and yes I'm in the airport, and my phone immediately rings, it's H.  We catch up more in 5 minutes than we have all weekend, it's the first chance we've had and it was lovely.  We say our goodbyes and I pull out my iPod and Corinne Bailey Rae's, "Just Like a Star."  I keep checking the departure board, with a squint, but no gate as yet.

I feel like when I get home, a new chapter will be waiting for me.  By morning, the new chapter will probably, very closely resemble... the old chapter.

I charge out of the airport automatic doors at 7.59pm, one minute early, to see B slowly navigating the road in front of departures.  I wave, like a maniac and wave and she slows down, it turns out to navigate the speed bump, then speeds up again and leaves me waving in her rear view mirror.  She obviously hasn't seen me so I determine that she'll head for the roundabout and come round again so I head to the far end of the pick up point, nearest to the roundabout.  I switch on my phone, just in case, (B does not text anyone as a rule,) and wait... for five minutes.  "Text me when you're at the pick up point," I receive.  "I'm at the pickup point, you just drove past me," I reply.  Two minutes later and B is heading towards me smiling.  It's okay, she knows I was joking and I know she didn't see me.  You can no longer wait in the pick up point, you have to have a passenger waiting to be picked up... to wait in the pick up... if you get my drift.

So, forty minutes later, we're home, my home.  B comes in with a food parcel.  A fresh loaf, a packet of, "turkey ham," (what?)   By the time I'd put my weekend washing in the machine, myself in the shower, I was a tad empty, so I ventured into a "turkey ham" sandwich.  I know that speaking to a vegetarian, I don't really need to go into detail, but I'm going to anyway.  I've had turkey-bacon before, and as I remember, it wasn't terrible, but not something I'd choose these days.  Turkey ham is a totally, well, it's another animal.  For starters, it smells like, a dead turkey and has the consistency of blancmange.  Imagine eating a smelly, blancmange sandwich.  I was hungry and still couldn't manage to eat it, it was binned, two bites in.  Vile.