Here I am at 22.15 sat in Manchester Airport, having battled the non existent car park signs, fought my way through the fag ash lil’s hovering around the doorways in a cloud of stale sweat and smoke fumes, to be greeted with the sign that Mrs Fogg’s flight is landing as planned at 22.35 (both of them apparently). Strange the that Mrs Fogg is texting me advising she is currently waiting for someone to defrost the wings and clear the snow from the plane before it can set off!

You would hope in this age of super fast broadband (obviously only applicable to city centres or London) that they could at least update the boards to show it might be delayed by at least an hour.

So then an evening of £4 per hour (yep you read that correct 6.6p a minute) with a choice for my tea of Mr Spud or Groggs Shergar and Potato Pie, oh bugger looks like Mr Spud has just closed, ah well it’s gonna be a “stable” diet for me then (bum tish).