Back in Seattle. Deep joy.
It was a close-run thing. I had a 0640 flight from LHR to CDG, which was to arrive at 0900, plenty of time for me to make the 1030 flight to the States. I set two alarms for 0345 to ensure I got to Heathrow by 0500 to get myself & my bags checked in & be well ready for boarding at 0605.
Only for some unfathomable reason, they held up take-off for 40 minutes, for six people. An entire A321 full of passengers blown off for six.
Naturally the delay lost us our take-off slot, so more wait. & then, descending over Paris we lost power in one engine, so a complete circuit to come in upwind.
The upshot was that we docked about five minutes after boarding started for the Seattle flight.
I sprinted across two very long sections of Terminal 4E, flinging myself through yet another security screening, & barely got on the aircraft before they closed the doors.
My checked bags, of course, weren’t as fast as I, which is what I’d expected.
(I should be grateful, I suppose, that I made the connection—many of my fellow Paris passengers didn’t make theirs at all.)
Well, I’m putting it down to the concept that Forces there are that don’t want me in the Emerald City. With which I fully concur.
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