Now I know that anything happening in England isn't really travelling, but technically my trip began when I got into the taxi, which would then take me to the train station, where I would get a National Express connection to Heathrow. A couple of things to note on my journey:
- The National Express didn't turn up, so had to wait a while for the next one. Luckily I had built in some extra time into my plan, and a packet of Marks & Spencers' “Percy Pig & Pals” helped whittle away the time stood in the rain.
- Whoever designed the toilets on South West Trains... thank you for providing me with a stressful urinating session. Before the train pulled into Woking station, I thought I'd nip to the loo. So, pretty straightforward: Press open, walk inside, press close, press lock. Hmmm the lock button is still lit up in red, so I press again. This happens several times before I realise that there are two settings - flashing red and solid red. Except I have no idea which one means 'locked', and also have no idea how many times I have pressed this bloody button... In addition, thanks to the huge mirror plastered on the back wall, my plan of simply standing with my back to the door wasn't to work either. So I just had to hope, bracing myself for the door to slowly reveal me like some sort of game show prize. Unfortunately a small child came in, shouted for her mum, I was arrested and never made in to the airport.
Ok, I made that last line up, but it COULD have happened like that.
I arrived in Mexico City at 19:30 local time, the equivalent of 1:30am GMT. On the flight I listened to a bit of Jack Dee's autobiography, practised some Spanish, watched Shrek IV and didn`t sleep a wink. Despite this, I wasn't feeling too tired. And in passport control I noticed Andrew Flintoff on the other side of the queuing aisle. So any cricket fans wondering what he did after injury forced him out of the game, well he came to Mexico City with me. I did consider saying something to him, but I figured that he probably didn't need any more (there were already one or two) inane comments from someone who doesn`t even know much about cricket. The man is an absolute beast though, tall and built. I didn't feel very masculine stood alongside him. Maybe I should have just said something about that instead.
I was met at the airport by Makocha, her mum and her aunt, and we drove back to their lovely house in Candado de Sayavedra, a beautiful neighbourhood in the North West of Mexico City.
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