Surely that’s not Sicily, it’s Pett Level – and on a dull, grey, day? Sadly, you are right. We ended up back here for another week. My worst fears about Mount Etna were realised. The airport was closed, our flight was cancelled and on Saturday we had a horrible day at Gatwick. But we recovered and have done some nice things. We are trying again on Saturday, flying to Palermo, to at least salvage a week of the holiday. If the holiday stress was not enough, the day before we went Battleaxe had a traumatic time at Bexhill Hospital. See later.
First, last Saturday. We had a luxurious and pleasant drive to the airport with Premier Travel in a comfy Mercedes. Then, Bag Drop was seamless, our passage through Security was streamlined and grief-free. Poor Philosopher always dreads it because his medical issues often mean an intrusive and undignified examination. Not this time though. Perhaps the staff have been on customer care training. So, by the time we got to our departure gate we were in a good mood. I had seen on-line that the disruption index at Catania was slowly rising, but the airport was still functioning. But then, suddenly, it wasn’t… We all sat there looking at our phones, seeing that the airport was closed. But Easyjet told us nothing. Perhaps they were trying to get the flight diverted, perhaps they were making arrangements for our ‘unboarding’, who knew. To be clear, it is not spectacular lava eruptions that close the airport – it is clouds of volcanic ash blown over the near-by air space. Like this:
You may say, look, you have been banging on about this for ages. Us readers are bored of it. Battleaxe, shouldn’t you have rearranged the flight weeks ago? Well, believe me, we had considered it loads of times… but the volcano had been behaving itself for at least a couple of weeks, so I thought it was a risk worth taking. I had been planning this holiday for so long… But I made the wrong call. I guess a bit of my distress was down to guilt and annoyance at myself – subjecting us both to the inevitable horrors.
Anyway, we were eventually told that the flight was cancelled and sent to the Enquiry Desk in the Departure Lounge. Not so easy. This was Gatwick… think a 1km walk, pushing through on-coming crowds of people, slow lifts and travellators going the wrong way… In Departures, the Enquiry Desk proved to be small, inconspicuous and in the middle of the huge, crowded hubbub. Staffed by one quiet-voiced woman, surrounded by a whole frantic plane-load of people all desperate for information.
I confess I did have a weep then – Battleaxe is a committed weeper, but weeping has never prevented me from carrying on and getting the business done. Then, for some reason I couldn’t quite fathom, maybe something to do with security, we were sent on another long walk to yet another gate. Once all there, we were sent on an even longer walk – God that place is confusing – which eventually brought us out into the Passport Control queuing area. Through there, and on down to Baggage Reclaim, where we wait for our luggage to mysteriously reappear, presumably off the plane. Then out through customs and we were disgorged back into the UK. By this time it was 3.00 and we had got there at 9. I had walked my whole day’s step allowance – over 3 miles.
Soon discovered that flights to Palermo were all booked up for the next 2 days – and then on the following days the flight left at 5.55 in the morning. No way thanks, so rebooked for the following Saturday.
Of course, no hope of getting Premier Travel, so we returned to Hastings on the train. Got home about 4.30 to 5. We were both worn out and I was very weepy. Our kind neighbour Angela cooked us some supper. Slept very little, but got up the next morning and went to Pett Level for a walk, followed by a vast roast beef Sunday dinner at the Two Sawyers in Pett. That, and a pint of Harveys Best, sent me to sleep for the rest of the day and that night… On the following day we went to Rye to see the film ‘Pressure’. Very good, and non-corny. Battleaxe would recommend. Next day, outing to Tunbridge Wells on the train. Tonight – supper with friends Jan and Tom. Tomorrow – London to the V & A Storehouse in Stratford – and so on. No cooking, housework, writing – this is the first time I have had the PC on. Here’s a sparrow hawk, outlined by the sun, on our back hedge..
So, what was the business at Bexhill Hospital – the eye clinic. I have not written about this – I don’t tend to write about my health… For some months I have had trouble with recurrent styes on my eyelids. Went to the doc about a persistent one months ago – June time? He referred me to a dermatologist because it could ‘possibly’ be a BCC. (A basal cell carcinoma, for those who don’t know. They are slow-growing, non-invasive skin cancers that none the less have to be removed, usually by surgery. Have had them before on other bits of my body. Non-scary, lots of people Battleaxe’s age get them). But on your eye-lid? Oh yuch… Anyway, the dermatologist at the Conquest was very disagreeable and brusque, thought it was almost definitely a BCC, and referred me to a specialist at Bexhill. He was pretty pessimistic as well, did a biopsy on 21 July. That was scary and nasty – had a big bandage over my eye for a couple of days. The consultant said I wouldn’t get the results for weeks (why, I wonder?) and I didn’t.
I didn’t like talking about it to people, but googled it and BCC on the eyelid usually means two surgeries, one to remove the cancer, one to reconstruct your eye-lid, which may involve skin grafts. Oh utter, utter horrors. Not only was the whole idea yucky and painful but I wouldn’t be able to see properly, read, write, drive and what on earth would I look like? I eventually got an appointment for last Friday. Still no result of the biopsy, but they said they wanted to discuss ‘options for surgery’. I tell you, Battleaxe was so traumatised at the very thought of this that she felt faint and was almost sick. Philosopher even came in with me for the consultation. He has been a brick throughout this whole saga.
But next thing I knew… The consultant (Mr Saldana) calmly announced that the biopsy had found nothing. Nothing? What do you mean, nothing? No malignancy, just inflammation. He looked at my eye again. Nothing… So, what was he going to do? Nothing. An operation? No, nothing. Treatment? Nothing. I was discharged with a leaflet about blepharitis/dry eyes, which apparently causes the inflammation. I was so angry, even though I was incredibly relieved. For months I had been imagining the worst… they could have told me before!
Enough of this. Next time I write, we should be back from Sicily – 4 days in Cefalu, 3 days in Palermo.
To finish up, look at this strange photo of the early-evening moon, taken just before last Saturday. Perhaps it was a portent…
