EVERYONE has a story to tell at the moment of a Journey From Hell; connections missed, flights cancelled, trains late, car stranded, etc.

Well, at the moment, I’m sitting in the living room of my London flat. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home, snuggling up to Carolyn, trying to wrest the blanket off young Ronnie and wondering why he’s in the bed with us in the first place.

But I’m not. Because I thought I could get home on a British Airways flight from London City Airport. I was wrong.

After a breathless journey from Westminster to the airport via the Jubilee Line and then Docklands Light Railway (DLR), I arrived to see that the flight had been delayed from 8.30 pm to 10.05 pm. Hmm. Fair enough (though I’m not sure why people are so much more tolerant of airline delays than railway delays). Grabbed a bite, got the laptop out, Read the David Tennant interview in Doctor Who Monthly. Checked the board: still scheduled for 10.05.

Then, at 9.30, an announcement: our plane had left Frankfurt and was due to arrive here at 10.15. But if we didn’t board by the time the runway was due to close at 10.30, the flight would be cancelled. Also, oddly, it was announced that boarding would take place ten minutes before the plane landed. Not an encouraging sign.

At 10.15, I was phoned by Tom Greatrex, special adviser to Jim Murphy, the Secretary of State for Scotland, who was hoping to catch the same flight. He had just found out it had been cancelled. Oh, joy!

There was an offer from British Airways of a room in a nearby hotel… for 20 passengers. And there were many more than 20 disappointed passengers there. I opted to go back to the flat and catch a train tomorrow instead. An airport staff member led a small, unhappy group of us outside the terminal building – except that I and another bloke who was trying to get to Glasgow were trailing behind the staff member, who, at the bottom of a stairwell, disappeared behind a security door, letting it swing closed before we could reach it. It was locked fast. What the hell do we do now? We banged as loudly on the door as possible to attract attention. Nothing. I kicked it, quite hard. Still nothing. Best retrace our steps back upstairs, we decided. The door at the top of the stairs was locked as well!

I suddenly had a vivid scene in my head of me and my new compatriot hunkering down for the night in a stairwell, our very existence unknown to the world outside. A confused-looking woman soon came to our aid at the upstairs door, however, and then our original guide retrned to fetch us, very apologetic for leaving us behind.

“It might not have been too bad,” said my new friend when I told him of my fears of an uncomfortable overnight stay.

“Are you kidding?” I replied. “Didn’t you notice there was no toilet?”

Back on the DLR to Canning Town, where I jumped on a Jubilee Line train. Which turned out to be suspended because of signalling problems. This was just getting silly. Would I ever get back to the flat, or would I be doomed to wander the streets of East London forever?

Jumped back on the DLR, this time all the way to Tower Gateway where I disembarked and jumped on a District Line train. Reached Victoria. Hurrah. Walked to the flat, glad to get some fresh air.

Wrote this post.

And now to bed, with an early rise in prospect, not to mention almost a whole day at the office tomorrow written off.

And before you say “You should have got the train tonight in the first place”, I would have, had there been one running after the last vote in the Commons. Even the Caledonian Sleeper wasn’t taking bookings because they couldn’t be sure whether or not they would be able to run a service in the current weather conditions.

I could just barf.