For Gawd's sake, get me to the Parish Council on time...

I am, allegedly, a responsible adult. At least, I am the Chair of a Parish Council which should, theoretically, make me a responsible adult - I leave that to others to judge. But, in planning our trip to Tirana, I had suffered something of a diary malfunction which meant that, whilst I was starting my day with an excellent breakfast in our Tirana hotel, I was supposed to be finishing it at a Council meeting in Creeting St Peter. And, given that we're a councillor short, we don't have a lot of wriggle room in terms of absences.

There is only one British Airways flight per day to Tirana, and the Monday flight leaves Mother Teresa International at 13.35, with a scheduled arrival time at Heathrow's Terminal 5 at 16.05. That notionally gave me three hours and twenty-five minutes to exit the aircraft, clear immigration, collect our luggage, catch two trains to Stowmarket and have a taxi drop me outside the Church Room. Easy, right? No reason to be slightly on edge, eh?

The weather was still nice, and we were packed and ready to go, so we took the opportunity to take a last stroll around the city centre before heading for the airport where we encountered a rather jolly, helpful chap who turned out to be the local British Airways manager. I did wonder for a moment if he was real, as that's not always what you expect from their ground staff...

The lounge is nice enough, with homemade cake and an interesting selection of Albanian food and wine, but we did need to spend the last of our Albanian Lek - a bottle of Albanian rose did the job - before we headed to the gate a little earlier than we had been told to, only to find that the flight was already boarding. It was all so efficient, indeed, that we were ready to go ten minutes early. I might yet make my meeting...

There is, if you're flying into Heathrow, every likelihood that you'll end up in a holding pattern over East London was ages, but after an uneventful flight, we were on the ground early and, whilst immigration was busy, we made good time through the e-gates. My hopes of catching the 16.50 Elizabeth Line train to Liverpool Street were rising.

And yet, and yet, where was the luggage? We reached the carousel only to find a distinct lack of activity. We waited... and waited, as time ticked on. I was just beginning to give up hope when, at 16.41, there was a flurry of bags and, grabbing mine, we made haste to the Elizabeth Line station where the train was still waiting for us.

The connection at Liverpool Street for the 18.00 Norwich train was a relatively easy one, and I had a taxi waiting for me at Stowmarket when I arrived there at 19.20, which whisked me to the Church Room in the nick of time. 

But a responsibility is a responsibility, right?...