One of the better things about working for Woodcote Building Services, was that every year we would go on a so called ‘bonding exercise.’ A long weekend on the south coast of Spain was the normal favourite. Each year according to what was available, eight or ten of us departed from one UK airport or another for a destination such as Malaga.
In the year that I was due to retire, the chosen airport happened to be the one nearest to my Loughborough home, East Midlands, about six miles. This turned out to be extremely fortunate for me.
As I remember, the flight was scheduled to go at 10.00 am and it was therefore necessary for us to be at the airport at about 8 to 8.30 am for normal bookings in etc. I drove to the airport with my wife who would return home with the car, thus saving parking fees and taxi fares.
Arriving on
time we quickly said our goodbyes, Jean slid into the driving seat and shot off
home.
We were getting our first calls for the flight about 9.15am and all paperwork was assembled and held ready for inspection, including passports. I looked at mine. It took about 15 seconds for me to comprehend just what I was holding.
‘Oh! No! No! This is not my passport. This one belongs to Jean!’
In a frantic phone call home, I managed to tell Jean what had happened. Explanations also had to be made by our company M.D. to airport officials. A little leeway was granted.
To her credit, Jean managed to get back to the airport with about two minutes to spare. I was told on arrival home that our Peugeot 307 was capable of 100 mph. And guess who was driving? Not me!
David Taylor
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