Not Sitting But Running

'This time next week I will be sitting in that pretentious architectural disaster area that is Copenhagen international Airport, on my way home again.'

I wrote that a little over a week ago in a burst of quite unjustifed optimism.

Whatever committee designed Copenhagen Airport, they were certainly not constrained by any lack of space, or indeed by considerations such as the convenience of the passengers who were to use it. It sprawls in one mile-long continuous line of terminal building. Moving pavements to ease the traveller's lot? Few and far between. They get in the way of the shops, you see.

The inbound flight was delayed about 40 minutes because of fog. The aircraft eventually parked at the western end of the airport, close by Domestic Departures from whence my connecting flight should leave, but of course it would be too logical to allow us to leave by that gate. We had to go down onto the tarmac and be bussed down to the far eastern end of the terminal complex for passport control. The cabin crew made an appeal to those on board who were finishing their journey at Copenhagen to stay back and let those with connecting flights get off the plane first, so we climbed aboard the buses which then waited for the remaining passengers to disembark before setting off. Thus those of us who came first into the packed buses were naturally the last to get out and join the queue for passport contol. Brilliant.

With the connecting flight being called as I finally cleared passport control I had to make a mad dash over that mile of terminal. It wouldn't be so bad if it were just a straight mile of corridor, but the route weaves in and out between unnecessary mezzanines, shop units and pavement coffee bars, and of course, crowds of travellers, either lost and aimlessly wandering or bored with waiting to be called to their departure gate and aimlessly wandering.

I was trying to rationalise by telling myself that there was really no need to hurry: My baggage was checked through from Gatwick and was probably already loaded onboard the onward flight. If I didn't show, they would have to unload the whole lot again and retrieve my stuff and serve them right, but I have a pathological dislike of being late for anything, so I hurried.

I made the departure gate with five minutes to spare. No space left in the overhead bins on the aircraft to store my hand luggage. That's why I like being on board sooner rather than later. But I had made it and I was able to phone Heather to tell her to meet me at the local airport as arranged. As it turned out, the only sitting I did in Copenhagen that day was in a seat with a lap-belt, with the back fully upright prior to take-off and the table in front of me folded away.