December was a time of great highs and great lows, mainly involving travel, or the lack thereof.

It all started the week after Joe’s 10th birthday, a cold and wintry time throughout Europe….

It was time for my monthly visit to see the TweetDeck team in London. I set off from home around 3.30pm for a steady trip across to La Rochelle airport. Arriving in plenty of time, I breezed through the usual queue-passports-security routine without a hitch.  There was a brief rain shower while I waited in the departure lounge, but hardly conditions befitting what was to come.

The expected landing time came and went. No plane. Soon after, rumour rippled round the room that the plane had in fact tried to land, but pulled up at the last minute. Not very encouraging. The truth behind this report was lost in the mists of time, but, true or not, there was ultimately no plane. After a while there was still no plane, but there was an announcement. The incoming flight from Stansted had been diverted due to bad weather (errrr, which bad weather is that…?), and we would now be flying out of……Nantes!

So, rather peeved to say the least, we waited maybe two hours for coaches to arrive and take us to Nantes. Then followed two hours of cold, boring coach travel, during which I figured that this was as bad as things could possibly get. Oh ho ho ho, how wrong I was.

We arrived at Nantes and the weather was really not great. La Rochelle had been damp and cold, but Nantes had snow on the ground and more was hanging in the air. Nevertheless, we were ushered through the airport, through the queue-passports-security routine again, and down to the departure lounge. We didn’t have more than a few minutes to wait before the flight was called and we were allowed to leave the comfort of the nice chairs at the gate and forced to stand in The Glass Corridor Of Death. So there we waited. And waited. And then we waited some more. Eventually they let us out onto the tarmac, and onto the mysteriously diverted (or not) plane.

Things being what they were, this was of course not the end. By now it was around 10pm. We waited on the plane for what felt like an eternity, but was actually about two hours. We missed our “slot” and waited some more. Fog started rolling in, surrounding the plane like the Atlantic breakers on our favourite beach. The pilot kept apologising, but insisted that we would still try to leave. If only the weather would improve, or the temperature would rise, or the de-icer would start working, or pigs would start flying… As the temperature dropped, so did our chances of ever leaving Nantes. Finally the pilot’s voice broke through the groans of despair. “Sorry folks,” he said. “We’re not going to be able to take off.”  Well, quelle surprise.

So, we all dragged our weary selves off the plane again and back into the terminal building, there to await yet more coaches. This time we were whisked away (well, after an hour’s wait) to a hotel on the other side of Nantes where we would spend the night, before returning to the airport in the morning.  Cue more waiting, travelling and shivering as we crossed the city to find a bed for the night.

In all fairness, it was a nice hotel, and the girl on reception was very efficient while checking us all in, so we couldn’t complain about that. It was just rather depressing to be settling down for the night in completely the wrong country. But no matter, there was nothing to be done but  go with the flow, so I checked in and crashed out.

Morning came, but the fog was still covering everything. This was not a good sign.

Turns out I was right. The coaches swung by at about 9am to take us back to the airport, only for us to find that the flight, previously due to leave at 10:30, was now not departing until 13:00. Marvellous.

Luckily, there were no further delays and we eventually got on the plane and departed for Stansted without any further ado. I arrived in the TweetDeck office almost exactly 24 hours after leaving the house the day before.

So all’s well that ends well, you might think. Well, hold on a cotton-pickin’ minute, as I haven’t finished yet…

After a great time in London at our first ever TweetDeck event, I embarked on the return leg of the journey.

Being totally paranoid that everything would go wrong (how could I be so silly…..?) , I arrived very early at the airport and waited. No problems arose, so I was feeling confident. Until, that is, I bumped into a fellow traveller from our ill-fated outward journey. He had apparently just spoken to La Rochelle airport and heard that they were closed! It seems that all flights had been diverted to Bordeaux. All the evidence at that point (airport screens, Ryanair website etc…) pointed to everything being just fine and dandy. Maybe my flying companion had misunderstood. Yeah, maybe.

So, our flight was called – on time – and I trundled down to the gate. No word of any changes in destination. Then the same chap came walking down to the front of the queue to speak to the Ryanair rep who was checking boarding passes. “Are we flying to La Rochelle or Bordeaux?” was his rather leading question. “The information I have is that we’re flying to La Rochelle sir,” was her somewhat-forced reply. “Well perhaps you should tell the staff on the Ryanair desk, because they have just said that we are flying to Bordeaux,” he countered.  ”The information I have is that we’re flying to La Rochelle sir.”  I was to hear that reply quite a lot during the next hour….

All went well. We boarded on time. This was good. The chap in front asked one of the air crew if we were actually flying to La Rochelle. “The information I have…” – yeah, you know the rest. Even though this chap then rang La Rochelle airport from his seat on the plane, and they confirmed that yes, they were indeed closed and had been all day, neither the air crew nor the pilot would admit that we were actually not flying to La Rochelle. So we took off, on time. Even once in the air, there was still no indication of any change of plan. Perhaps things had changed? Perhaps they knew more than we did?

Perhaps not.

Just 30 minutes before we were due to land in La Rochelle, just as we should have started our descent, the pilot came over the tannoy. Apparently there was suddenly very bad weather in La Rochelle and they were unable to clear the runway in time for us. We would unfortunately have to make an unscheduled diversion to Nantes. Ohhhh really?

Cries of “we knew it!” broke out and the mood in the plane became one of great frustration. Lots of people had family and friends waiting to meet them at La Rochelle, who would now be waiting for a flight that wasn’t arriving. If only they had admitted from the start that we were diverting to Bordeaux, then arrangements could have been made and friends notified. But presumably this would have meant Ryanair incurring some kind of extra charges, something they are always desperate to avoid.

Something we didn’t realise at this point was that the Ryanair website was actually showing that our flight was diverted to Shannon. Yes, Shannon in Ireland! “Diverted to Shannon due to snow in La Rochelle, so bus to Bordeaux” apparently. Quite how they thought that was going to work, goodness only knows. Amphibious busses anybody?

So, instead, we landed in Bordeaux (not Shannon). Amazingly, coaches were already waiting there for us. It’s almost as if they had known for a long time that we would be diverted…

We eventually arrived back in La Rochelle around midnight, tired, hungry and more than a little annoyed after having been blatantly lied to by Ryanair. But at least the end was in sight. After an uneventful car journey home, I was very pleased to finally reach my own bed. It had been one heck of a few days’ travelling and not something I wanted to repeat for a long time.

If only I knew what else was in store…