We made it home and, after unpacking, so did all our stuff – but only just.
Our transfer coach arrived and I thought I spotted my name on the list (without glasses). Then started the debate that I had definately booked for tres and not dos people. He changed it to 3 and then the other couple waiting piped up that it was their booking on the list – not mine. To double check, I got on the coach and shouted “Geri”. This resulted in a domino effect of everyone in the aisle seat sticking their heads into the out into the aisle. But no sign of Geri and co. Clearly not our coach then.
The positive of this is that I decided to ring Geri to see if they were on the coach yet. Where’s my phone? Jack found it – fifteen foot away from where we had been sat waiting – in the road next to the Kerb. I hadn’t even been over there! All I can think is I’d rounded the corner, pulling my case, holding my drink, bag and phone and, being an expressive hand talker, must have thrown it with a hand gesture as I walked and talked dribble!