Last Minute Catastrophes

June 2 nd 2026

Well, somehow we’ve made it almost halfway through the year, and yet it only feels like a few weeks since we were eating Christmas dinner, don’t you think?

I think it’s something about flying that makes time slip past so quickly. We live roster to roster, often wishing days away as we look ahead to the next one. We bid for flights months in advance, forget where we’ve just been before we even check in for the next flight, then come home and lose whole days sleeping off the return sectors. It’s almost like, while we’re away, we’re living someone else’s life… and when we come home, we forget all about that one.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s why time moves so fast at home. Is it because I only really count the days that I’m there that I’ve found myself in middle age when I still feel in my twenties?

Maybe it’s just me though {hic}. Maybe you don’t feel it that way at all. We all see things differently, after all. But writing this blog does help. It lets me hold onto those days a little longer, capture the moments before they fade. So thank you, genuinely, for being here and letting me share them.

May was a good month. Busier than the ones earlier in the year, but that was expected, and I felt ready for it, ready for the summer warm up when flights get fuller and there are suddenly more of them…

But, I had a great roster, which always makes a difference. It never feels like such a hardship to go to work when you’re genuinely excited about where you’re heading. I had a quick layover in New York, two nights in Barbados for that much needed R & R, and then the month finished off with a cheeky little South Africa… always one of my favourite places to go…

We stay in a lovely hotel, we meet up for dinner and a few glasses of wine, and I get to restock my wine rack for less than the cost of a weekly shop at home. For context, that rack holds twenty-four bottles.

I remember the days when customs would only allow us to bring back six. Since they increased it to twenty-four… well, it feels like a missed opportunity not to make the most of it. South Africa does produce some incredible wine, after all…

And it was a lovely trip, as always. The sun had been shining, and on the last day I even made it out to see the elephants. A little bit of culture, you know. When you travel that far, you do have to make the effort to see something beyond the hotel and the bar occasionally. Nobody else wanted to come, but that was fine, I’m a big girl now and don’t mind doing things alone..

And they were incredible. Huge, gentle, curious creatures, all raised from orphans. They let me feed them, stroke their trunks, stand close enough to feel their breath… and I was so glad I’d made the effort to go.

Right up until the drive back that was.

Because that was the moment everything went a little bit wrong… and made me seriously question my decision to do anything at all on departure day ever again.

So, picture this.

We left the park early afternoon. It was about an hour back to the hotel, plenty of time before check out. There was myself, another hotel guest, and a young local driver, all chatting away, swapping photos, doing that post-excursion debrief where everything still feels fresh and exciting.

And then the heavens opened.

Not a bit of rain. Not even a proper shower. Oh no -This was something else entirely. A full- on African storm. Sheets of water hammering down, lightning cracking across the sky, the kind of rain where even with the wipers on full speed you can barely see beyond the bonnet. We slowed right down, creeping along as the traffic began to bunch up. I’ll admit, I glanced at the time. Just a quick check. We were still fine. Still had plenty of margin to absorb a short hold up.

Eventually, the rain eased a little. The road began to clear, and we started moving again, picking up speed, making up for lost time.

And then…

BOOM.

We hit a pothole.

And two minutes later we were limping onto the hard shoulder with a burst tyre and a growing sense of dread.

The poor girl driving couldn’t have been more than twenty. And yet, there she was, out in the pouring rain, trying to get the wheel off while myself and the other lady stood there feeling completely useless. To her credit, she didn’t panic. You could tell she was used to this sort of thing. Long drives and rough roads, having to just get on with it when you are miles from anywhere. She seemed confident she could sort it. But the spanner just wouldn’t grip the wheel nuts, it seemed to be worn on the inside somehow. And suddenly it felt like the odds were against us.

Because let me tell you, if there’s one place you do not want a burst tyre, it’s on the side of a highway in Johannesburg.

I’ll admit, I did feel rather vulnerable. At one point, three men rolled past on what I can only describe as a kind of pedal-powered cart, piled high with goods like a moving freight train. It was such a strange contrast. Everyday life for them, and yet for us it all felt a little surreal.

A kind man did stop to help, which was a temporary relief. But even though he did have some luck, even he couldn’t shift the last stubborn nut.

And all the while, I could feel the clock ticking.

We were only about half an hour from the hotel by then. Close enough to almost touch it, and yet so completely stuck.

By the time we finally gave up trying to change the wheel ourselves, and yes, by that point even I was having a go with the damned spanner, we limped into a garage just down the road and it dawned on me that there was every chance I was going to miss the crew pick up.

And worse than that… maybe even the flight.

My mind went straight into overdrive.

I started running through every possible scenario.

Could I get an Uber straight to the airport and meet the crew there? Would they wait? Would they even be allowed to?

And then, well, I started to imagine the aftermath.

The phone call with management. Trying to explain something that, technically, wasn’t my fault. The note on my file. The questions. The raised eyebrows. Maybe even a ban on leaving the hotel on layovers.

It sounds dramatic, I know. But trust me, airlines have a real talent for overreacting when things don’t go to plan.

I’ll admit, the panic was just about settled in, when the young men at the garage took one look at us and clearly decided we needed rescuing. Me, soaked through and almost in tears, and the poor young driver, who had the weight of everything on her shoulders, including me.

They got to work straight away, no fuss, no hesitation, and within minutes our new heroes had that stubborn wheel off, the spare one on, and just like that we were back on the road…

And somehow… I made it.

Back to the hotel with twenty five minutes to spare. Not long enough to run to the supermarket to get wine, perhaps, but just enough time to throw everything into a suitcase, get changed, and make it down to the lobby before pickup.

It honestly felt like a small miracle.

But, I have to say, I was completely thrown for the rest of the day. You know when something disrupts your routine so much that you just cannot get back into your rhythm? Well, that was me. My usual flow was gone. It was like my muscle memory had simply given up, and I spent the entire flight feeling slightly out of sync.

And yes… mistakes were made.

Nothing serious, thankfully. But definitely not my finest performance. I single-handedly managed to turn the meal service into a bit of a shambles thanks to multiple mistakes on my order sheet. At one point I nearly handed an almond slice to a passenger with a nut allergy, which he very sensibly double checked before taking and averted a crisis.

3G eventually calmed down after being told the chicken he’d ordered was no longer available for him, and that all we had left was a baked aubergine. That took a bit of smoothing over. And 11D was clearly unimpressed when I knocked his red wine straight into his lap, a full glass of it too. Thankfully though, for us both, he was already in his pyjamas and I gave him another pair to change into while I cleaned up the seat…

And then there was 6K.

She had very specifically asked for a decaf coffee.

And I gave her a regular, straight out of the coffee machine.

Well, she didn’t sleep a wink for the rest of the flight, of course. And yes, I do feel bad about that.

So, I said nothing, and when she out right asked me if I had definitely made her a decaf, well I am ashamed to say that I outright lied and assured her I had… But what good would it have done either of us if I had admitted my error? She would still have been wide awake and I’d have had another angry passenger to contend with… wouldn’t you have done the same?

But, despite my mistakes, despite all my efforts to disrupt the service, there is one thing about flying that I realised many years ago… As long as the engines keep turning, and that you all land safely… well, it’s never really a bad day in the true sense of the word, no matter how bad it might feel at the time.

And I eventually made it home… I had the kettle on within minutes, a cup of tea in hand, and one very clear new resolution in my mind.

No more cutting it fine. Ever.

In fact, I don’t think I’ll be planning anything on departure day ever again. It’s just not worth it.

You never quite know what’s going to happen, and sometimes it only takes one small thing to throw everything else into chaos.

I do remember another story where half the crew didn’t even make it back in time… but I think that one is destined for The Red Eye Podcast, so I’ll let you hear that there first.

For now though, that’s all from me.

Until next month, dear readers I’ll leave you with this small take away: for those of you who drive, especially in a foreign country, take this as a gentle reminder to make sure you’ve got everything you might need for an emergency in your car, that it all actually works, and that you know how to use it. Because the breakdown services might not always be there when you need them, and things have a habit of going wrong at the worst possible moment.

A quick check now could save you a lot of stress later… take it from someone who found out the hard way…

Much love,

Susan