Lettie Goes Travelling

Most people think their journey starts at the airport…and to be fair, they might be right.

But for me, it starts long before that.

Because my biggest anxiety?

Getting to the airport.

Crazy, right?

Especially when you consider everything else that could go wrong on a trip.

But here’s the thing…

I have to get ME there.

No one else. Just me.

And that feels like quite a responsibility.

When I first started travelling again, I used to stay at an airport hotel the night before.

But as prices crept up, that became more of a luxury than a necessity.

I love a morning flight…

which means the anxiety starts the night before.

Will I hear my alarm?

Will it even go off?

Have I ever slept through one?

No.

Has my alarm ever failed?

Also no.

Does that stop me worrying?

Absolutely not.

So now I set two alarms…

and still wake up before both of them 😅

Gatwick is my local airport — about an hour and fifteen minutes away.

So naturally, I allow an hour and a half.

Motorway all the way…

but I have been diverted before….at stupid o’clock in the morning.

And yes… I may have also been caught speeding once.

That’s a story for another day.

So until I see the Gatwick exit on the M23,

I’m not fully relaxed.

Then comes the car park.

I like to keep my keys.

I’ve done the “leave your keys” option before…

and the valet parking… But after one company added 85 miles to my car,

I decided that wasn’t for me.

I always pre-book — it’s cheaper.

But there’s always that moment at the barrier…

Will it recognise my number plate?

Will it lift?

And if you’ve ever cancelled and rebooked (money-saving tip 😉),

you’ll know…sometimes it doesn’t.

Cue pressing the intercom and trying to sound calm and organised.

Then you’re in.

Now it’s just finding a space.

And let’s be honest…

You’re rarely choosing the perfect spot.

You’re taking the one everyone else has rejected

because it’s just a bit too tight thanks to questionable parking.

No judgement, obviously 😇

Car parked.

Bag out.

And then you spot the bus approaching.

There was a time I would have run for it…

Now?

There will be another one in a minute.

But standing at that bus stop, with no one talking…

It gets awkward in a very British.

Until someone says:

“Do you know how often these buses run?”

And suddenly…

We’re all in it together.

Then finally…

The terminal. (And yes — the right terminal. Always a bonus.)

This trip, I’ll head straight through departures, past the chaos of duty free…and there it is.

My focus point.

Pret.

And the moment I’m sat there

with a latte and a pain au raisin…

That’s when I know.

My trip has really begun.