Zero Thoughtful, Substackian Writing Achieved

How a four-hour delay, a chatbot, and the World Cup derailed my meditation on family and distance

Sunday 5^th July (10:05am – 9:00pm PST)

Filing from seat 36B flight BA840

This post has been the most dramatic, and the most fractured, I’ve written in a long time – not from the inherent drama of my diaried events, but external forces.

To whit – plan was to write, during my long journey back to the UK from Canada an elegant, thoughtful meditation on the nature of families separated by oceans and continents. I did in fact make a start after I said sad goodbyes to my daughter and granddaughters as they dropped me off at the tiny airport in Castlegar in the luscious, lake jewelled, Kootenays, where we had holidayed for the last few days of my visit.

Our Home Exchange in the Kootenays.

I was already in a bit of a muddle – which sort of served me right. Last week’s post was a diversion from my usual day by dayish diary entries because it was all about my book event that took place at the Fable Book Parlour, Revelstoke, British Columbia. My intention today was to frame my familial meditation around the other events from the two weeks since I had left London, recounting the individual small stories of the 16 days of my stay.

As ever, in writing as in life, there is so much subtext underlying those few words – ‘recount the individual small stories of the 16 days of my stay’. Those individual stories, the day by day oftentimes mundane events (taking the rubbish to the dump and returning with an old table to upcycle), sometimes memorable and important (my 13 year old granddaughter’s graduation from Elementary school), are invested with so much extra meaning and importance knowing that they need to sustain you for another year until the next time you will be sharing their lives with them again.

I settled in and began to mull over what I intended to be the delicate exploration of the realities of the long distance family relationships so many of us are navigating in the 21st century, when there was an announcement that my Air Canada flight from Casltegar to Vancouver was delayed. The announcements continued in a stream - First it was for half an hour – manageable – then they were going to have to fix the plane - okay - then it was at least four hours. Not OK. Not manageable. In fact, disastrous, as I would miss my connection to London from Vancouver.

Worse, it wasn’t a recognised connection as it was a British Airways flight, not booked all the way through, and Air Canada in Castglegar said they couldn’t speak to British Airways in Vancouver and tell them I was going to miss my flight. They weren’t allowed to use their phone!

I turned to my computer and found the BA chat bot. We had a very amenable conversation, that is, until he/she/it told me he/she/it wasn’t allowed to do a re-booking. He/she/it gave me a phone number to use so I could speak to a human, but it was unreachable from my UK mobile. I HATE TECHNOLOGY.

My daughter, by now on her way home, returned to the airport to help and – oh joy - we managed to re-book on her phone and there followed a whole new flurry of poignant farewells. Half an hour later, I received a message from my daughter-in-law in London saying she had had an emergency message from BA saying they needed to talk to me. I started the whole process again. And thus the four hours merrily passed.

Zero thoughtful, Substackian writing achieved.

No space to write on the TINY, propellor plane from Castlegar to Vancouver...so I listened to my audiobook Yesteryear as I looked out the window onto dautingly endless, mile after mile of mountains and melted glaciers.

Yesteryear is not a joyful listen. I hadn’t read the reviews, but knew it was something of a sensation and that it explored the topic of trad wives. For some reason, I had expected a light hearted read full of gingham dresses, cows and apple orchards. That is not where this book goes. It is dark, dark, dark. Relentless. Which is not to say it isn’t brilliant but I don’t recommend it if you are in the throes of examining family relationships, the meaning of home and mother/daughter bonds.

On arrival at Vancouver I made a beeline for BA Check-In girding my loins for battle –but, to my amazement, they said that ‘yes’ I was on the last flight out in four hours time. Hoo-bloody-ray. Result. I cleared security in record time and set off for a quiet table to set up my computer, have a beer and write my post.

Only to be interrupted by a roar sweeping the airport. England had scored it’s first goal against Mexico.

My phone lit up. My daughter and granddaughters (England supporters now Canada were out), my son and grandson pulling an all nighter in London, were all on the family chat; sniping, laughing, groaning and cheering together, along with what seemed most of Vancouver airport’s Terminal D.

Maybe technology isn’t so bad after all.