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At roughly 5:15pm tonight, we were told that we should 'Go to gate 3' to board the flight from Newcastle down to Heathrow. Unless I've forgotten what it means when the big hand is on nine and the little hand is on seven, that means that two and a half hours ago I was lied to.

I probably ought to feel more violated by this blatant untruth, but as it happens two years of being solidly shafted by British Rail has meant that British Airways can no longer affect my emotional state. There was a point a couple of hours ago when the constant delays started bothering me, but I'm over it now. I'm resigned to the fact that I shall be arriving back in Cardiff sometime in the region of 2am, and am resolute that I shall be staying at home tomorrow - it seems that if a work trip takes 22 hours out of my life without time to sleep, I should probably be entitled to claim some of those hours back.

It's now looking like the plane is going to be three and a half hours late which, coupled with how early we arrived at the airport in the first place, means that it might have been quicker on the train. Or indeed cycling. At this rate, it might be an optimal strategy to close my

.. wait, I have to go. Ho hum

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Apparently you *have* forgotten how to tell the time: "when the big hand is on seven and the little hand is on nine", it's about 25 to 10..

You're right of course, I've lost all sense of perspective on the subject of relative size. I shall sue BA accordingly, must be their fault..

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