Mixed fortunes.

 My mother had a theory about things going in threes. Buses missed. Accidents at the corner of the street. Local women getting pregnant. You name it; she could find a way of putting it into a group of three. 

When we were returning from London recently and our train was cancelled, I thought nothing of it. Some weeks later we were going to Newcastle to visit a friend and arrived at Manchester Victoria to find that our train was cancelled. But still it was only two! 

Then, yesterday morning, en route for Spain, we had organised out travel to Liverpool John Lennon airport as a masterpiece of timing. Bus from the corner of the street at 7.54. Tram from Oldham to Shudehill Interchange on Manchester, arriving in plenty of time for the final stage: Terravision bus to the airport. It promised to get us there for 10.00. With fast track through security we would not need to hang around for too long before getting the plane to Porto, due to take off at 11.15. 

At 9.05, five minutes before the planned departure of the Terravision bus, one of their employees ran round telling us all that the bus was cancelled. We were welcome to catch the next one .... at 10.00. So that made three cancellations, one in March, one in April and finally, one in May. 

We wondered, very briefly, which of our friends and relations might be able to drive us at short notice. Answer: probably none and even of they were willing, by the time they made it to central Manchester to collect us, it would be too late. So we scouted around to see if anyone else going to Liverpool was willing to share a taxi. As luck would have it, two Irishmen were flying back to Belfast and needed to be at the airport at around the same time as us. 

As we debated where to find a taxi at such short notice, we spotted one pulling up outside the interchange and persuaded the driver, once he had dropped off his previous fare, to take the four of us. So off we went, sharing the fare and arriving in time for our respective planes. 

Now, we thought we were unfortunate. However, it turned out the two Irishmen had been in Manchester for the United match at the weekend. The one that was cancelled because of a bomb scare. The bomb scare that turned put to be a training device left behind from a security-dog-training exercise. They had been given tickets for the rescheduled match but would not be able to come back to Manchester. Work commitments. How peeved must they have been! 

As we bowled along the motorway, our taxi driver talked about passengers and how his previous fare had been really stressed that she might miss her bus. Suddenly he put two and two together and asked what time our bus had been due to depart: 9.10. That was the time his stressed lady passenger needed to catch the bus! Oops! Probably the same cancelled Terravision bus. By then it was too late and, besides, it was someone else's problem. 

We arrived in time for our plane, hung around for a while and boarded and departed on time. We even arrived just a tiny bit early. More about that shortly. In the airport I was on the lookout for a young friend, Sarah, who was supposed to be on the same flight. No sign of her. Had she missed the Terravision bus? But no, all was well. I found her on the plane half way through the flight. We discussed onward travel and lamented the fact that we were probably going to arrive in Porto just too late for the 1.45 Autna bus to Vigo. The next one would not be until 6.15 in the evening! This would mean Sarah could not continue her journey to A Coruña today. Did she want a bed for the night? That would be fine. We could help her out. 

And then our plane arrived in Porto just a tiny bit early. Knowing that Autna buses are sometimes on the last minute, the three of us, Phil, Sarah and I, all travelling handluggage only, raced through the airport, scuttled as fast as possible through passport control and exited the circling doors of Sa Carneiro to see the Autna bus, fifteen minutes late, still loading passengers. Hurrah! No time for a loo-stop. Straight onto the bus. 

Sarah was able to catch her train to A Coruña and we strolled through the hazy Vigo sunshine, pulling our suitcases along behind us, back to Calle Aragón. 

Sometimes, despite a poor start, the day just goes right!