Heavenly Beverley : Murphy was an Optimist!

Yesterday was meant to go smoothly. After a very hectic ten days, we were ready to return to Perth, release the Three Stooges and Madame Cat out of hock and motor home to Heavenly Beverley with the minimum of fuss.

I was up at the crack of dawn - 5.30 am Brisbane time - to expedite our departure towards the airport. With an 11.30 am take-off, there was not a moment to lose. Packing was completed. Husband was booted out of bed so I could wash the sheets. Breakfast was scoffed. Rubbish put out. Showers were undertaken. Blue Boy, our minuscule i20 was loaded with two suitcases, two carry-on bags, Michael's camera bag, my handbag, a painting and a mobile music speaker contraption. My darling Dad was farewelled and his Christmas present left with fabulous Coolum Beach Retirement Resort commander in charge Michelle. Promises to visit in July.

We made excellent time to the airport, parking Blue Boy outside Europcar at 10.30. We even scored a free luggage trolley. We were cocky and exceedingly smug with our progress.

Murphy must have been watching. The Arrivals lounge was in chaos. Two flights had been cancelled. The check-in queue was very, very long, as the staff were wrestling with additional bookings. I noticed the cheery sign informing us that we needed to have completed formalities half an hour before our flight. It was now 10.50. There was no way we were going to reach the front of the queue in ten minutes.

We were saved by terminal troubleshooter Sookie (that was her name). This very witty and efficient on-floor assistant moved us out of the queue to the counter with five minutes to spare. We were overweight and so were our bags. And the painting had to be dropped at Oversized Luggage. With fifteen minutes to go, we had paid the excess fee and watched all our belongings disappear.

Then we had the ordeal of going through the sensors with six (!) pieces of cabin luggage. After this task, we went in search of our boarding gate. A wine tasting stall had been set up. Michael was asked if he'd care to try a glass. Stuff the glass was his succinct reply, give me the bottle. At Gate 24, we joined yet another queue snaking onto our plane.

We were flying on an airbus. These planes are big. We were in row 52 and there were more rows behind us. And the plane was packed. We stowed our bags, I took my sedative and we were off. Due to the wet day, take-off was a bit bumpy. Much hyperventilation and crushing Michael's hand were my coping strategies. Once in the sky, I intermittently dropped off to sleep. A quite edible risotto and a glass or two of vino assisted in restoring my equilibrium. I returned to Cloud Cuckoo Land, only waking on our descent into Perth.

The landing was turbulent. More huffing and puffing and the odd little shriek. Once on the ground, I could have kissed the pilot. Instead, we sat, somewhat shattered and waited for the crowds to clear before we stood up.

Once in the terminal, we found our monstrously heavy bags and retrieved our painting. Sandra picked us up in Kermit. We were beginning to be sure of ourselves again. Big mistake.

After tea and cake with Sandra and Lucky, we set off in Kermit to reclaim the animals. With profound thanks to Phil and Melinda at Hawkeview Kennels, we loaded us all safely in the car, ready for the last hour of our epic trip. By this time, I had been up for over fourteen hours.

Kermit had a hissy fit, refusing to start. Bollocks. And with my brand new smart phone, I managed to call the RAC. The time was 5.40 pm. The oil pressure appeared to be failing to launch. Michael was gloomy. We required a tow.

Andrew, from Northam Towing, was able to assist us. Finally, with an unwell Kermit, the dogs, the cat and our luggage, we arrived back at the Residence at about 7.30 as darkness was falling. We unloaded the animals in the workshop whilst we ferried our belongings from Kermit into our new home.

We were too tired to eat. After a bourbon and coke, we collapsed into bed. What a day.

Murphy had the last laugh. Due to the stresses of the previous day, the dogs proceeded to wee all over the floors during the night. I was treated to Noah's flood upon arising. Oh goody...

This morning, I wiped up puddles, sprayed the ever trusty vinegar and water, vacuumed, washed the lino and put on two loads of wash. Then I proceeded to a spot of shopping, including copious amounts of alcohol to soothe my hot and sweaty bosom.

We opened the Gallery for a few hours. The heat was oppressive. We shut up shop, retired for an afternoon siesta and slept with the fan going full bore.

This evening, events have improved. In the relative cool of twilight, we took the dogs for a romp around the oval. They were ecstatic. We enjoyed the walk as well.

The moral of this story is clear. Never become too over confident. Never trust that bastard, Murphy. He and his Law have a nasty habit of causing mayhem when you least expect it.

Thus endeth another lesson.