Scene and heard

My plan was to leave work at 5:30 (I actually left a little late) and kill some time by going to Trader Joe’s and pick up a few last bits and pieces for the party. I was just about to descend into Wall Street Subway station when my phone vibrated. It was Rosemary. “There’s a problem at Montreal. The train will not get to Chatham until 8 o’clock.” It’s a 2-hour train ride. Do I go straight home first? No! Why don’t I take up the offer of a drink with a couple of colleagues at a nearby pub? I started towards it, got 100 yards, then reasoned that if I went first to Trader Joe’s, I could have that nerve settling bevvy later, if I so desired. About to head into the same subway station, the phone once again vibrated. This time, it was Sean: “What time do I need to be at the airport?” “Nan’s flight is coming early, so you should be there no later than 7.” Well, I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m stuck on the Verrazano Bridge.” The traffic had hardly moved for the last hour and he couldn’t see how he could get there.

Perhaps, if I took the PATH to Newark and a cab to the airport, I could be there by 7:15? So I made my way to the World Trade Center PATH Station. As I sat on the train, Sean called to say that the traffic was now moving a little. Having been to this station many times, I had gone on auto pilot and realised too late that I had got on the wrong train! I was headed towards Hoboken! I called Sean when I got there. He was only just through the toll plaza and into Staten Island. It was 6:15 and I stood no chance of meeting my Mum on time.

Plan C, or was it D or E: I go into the City and do my shopping and wait there until Sean calls me having met my Mum. To make a long story slightly less long, he called me an hour later. He somehow got to the airport with time to spare and was heading towards the car. I could now afford to be underground and out of contact, so I started my journey home. Should be no contest as to who gets there first; but then again, that is discounting that I need the N and R trains and these are run by those caring stalwarts of customer service, the MTA. As my ‘express’ train was pulling into 59th Street, Brooklyn, an R was leaving. This was not the rush hour, so therefore pressure on schedules is less acute. It should have waited for us, according to MTA policy. Perhaps another one was right behind? I waited 16 minutes! I beat the other two home by 2 minutes and had to head back into Manhattan 20 minutes later. The train from Chatham finally arrived at 10:15, and after a leisurely drink, Rosemary and I arrived at my place at Midnight. I had long since realised that the omen from the morning wasn’t a good one at all. Spurs fans will know all too well that it ain’t over ‘till it’s over! Clearly, if there was an omen, that was it!