This morning started with a 6am wake up call. We’d set it early to make sure I could actually get up having spent the day in the room the day before full of painkillers and crying everytime I moved.

Shane entertained Reilly in the pool. Reilly knew I couldn’t move so happily cracked on with his day. We opted for kebabs on the balcony as the evening meal is a two man job. One to chase Reilly if he bolts.

We had the resort check in service which meant we dropped our cases in reception and waved goodbye to them. This was an excellent service for us as it meant Shane wasn’t left pulling suitcases at Palma and we had no queueing in the 300 deep line at check in we could go straight to security – into hell.

Reilly does not want to look in shops, sit and have a drink – he wants to get on a plane, any plane at any gate. When this isn’t allowed all hell breaks loose. Star fishing, head banging, screaming. All accompanied by disgusted tuts from all directions. 2 hours to wait and then flashed with a 35 minute delay. At this point my back is breaking I can only describe it as back to back labour if any ladies have had that. I can’t pick him up. Shane picks him up and he goes rigid and screams even harder. This repeats at almost every gate as he tries to join queues for RyanAir, British Airways, EasyJet and Thomsons.

There is a shop in Palma airport that sells utter crap. Kind of Blyth Market circa 1985 when I used to work there on Kelly’s Mams stall selling knickers. All kinds of knickers some to rival Ann Summers others to give Nora Batty a run for her money. Happy days. Anyway he gets his eye on a skateboard. A skateboard. Could there be a worse thing to want in a crowded airport. Not the trainers with lights on or an emoji poo pillow a skateboard. I can’t even begin to describe the struggle, put it this way I almost passed out.

Skip forward to 45 mins before boarding. We locate our gate and take a couple of seats. Reilly tries to board the London Stansted flight and throws an almighty wobbler when told he can’t. This is epic. I glance around and see a vile cow proclaim to her mother that she can’t stand it a second longer and march off. I see nudges , I see tuts, I hear whispers. You can all fuck off. I’m ready for tears and I can’t pick my little lad up. I will never forget said lemon sucking cows face, I hope to meet her again one day and stow her hand luggage where the sun don’t shine. People like that should be ashamed of themselves. I was hoping to be sat near her on the flight. I did check but obviously boarded a different one. I was relieved to hear a couple when I walked past say ‘fuck em pet’. I needed it.

Jet2 again were outstanding. I only caught 1 guys name and that was Robert. They made sure Reilly was front of the queue. Showed him on their tracker how far away the plane was and were just generally fantastic. So both ways absolute top marks Jet2.

Once on the plane Reilly is as cool as a cucumber. Seat near the window he opts for his ear defenders as quite frankly it sounds like I’m in Centre of London at the height of the plague the amount of people coughing and spluttering on and we all know how much Reilly hates that and this is where I write this blog, just coming up through the clouds awaiting the air stewards to come along with their trolley shouting bring out your dead.

I am grateful to know I can sit down but unsure if I’ll ever stand up again.

There’s a lesson in this blog. Next time I shall be taking a private taxi to the airport and avoiding the huge airport wait. I’ll probably stay in a villa that has amenities close by but to be honest I’ll prob never do it again, maybe til next year šŸ˜¬

Update : Reilly was perfect on the plane and is now in his pj’s in bed watching Planes on DVD. I did stand up but I’m not the real slim shady.