What time is it? Watches and horology

Now kids let me sit you down and tell you a story of the odyssey that was my day yesterday, leaving Swindon at 12:15 to catch the 18:00 Stansted to Pescara flight, wrought with danger.

Gut rot all morning, then a coffee down by ASDA to do a last minute shop with dad, only to realise he left his wallet at home, so the emergency tenner came out. So distracted teaching him how to say hello, thanks, and goodbye in Polish at the coffee shop that we forgot to buy deodorant, toothbrush, and soap.

Satnav says 2hr15min to the airport, 29.5kg bike box, 20kg holdall, x-kg backpack and the daft Honda driven by mum enters the motorway. We know it must take 3 hours, always traffic.

It rains. Rain on the motorway is a bad sign. I look at the tiny automatic watch, the red second sweeps round.

Sat nav and googlemaps warn of congestion, and then bang on the 4B junction to enter the M15, standstill. Traffic is backed up for miles in front and behind. There was a crash of sorts a mile up ahead and the car was on fire. Sitting for around 40 minutes in traffic results in a quick pee break at the next services. With the journey taking shy of 4 hours, finally I get my bags checked in.

The ultimate stress of Stansted begins, with the pushing, shoving, and general foolery of people that must fail at life if not for our western capitalist infrastructure put in place to keep them from killing themselves as nature intended. I notice a very small crack form already on the top of the bike box.

The Ryanair steward ultra-polite ushers the mother and baby behind me to help her. I jokingly ask if anyone could help me he replies whilst pointing to my luggage "shoulda thought of that before y- nah I mean, if you'll wait your turn to use the self service" etc.

You need a degree in aerospace design to understand dismantling a buggy, it seems, as the same mother is in front again whilst struggling at the oversize luggage belt.

I ask the man behind to stop walking into me every time the queue moves through security. A young family spread across two bays of the x-ray thing and the mother kicks off whether I was behind them in the queue, because I am trying to use the space as directed by staff.

After the cacophony of duty free, the screen says Pescara 18:00 estimated 19:15, with no additional info.

The £5 sandwich from Pret is soggy and tastes of celery, and the waiting area full of fidgetting fart-wridden travellers.

18:05 they give us gate 59, the longest walk. Waiting in line until 18:50 or so before the plane arrives, the one guy to board two entire planes single handed also juggles the three elderly people with mobility issues, crowding up around his desk. He'd already loaded the neighbouring departure solo.

Outside, they tell us wait, so the queue so desperate to enter the plane is now stood in the rain getting more irate. On the plane after 10 mins in the rain, bag up, help a similarly aged female as her bag was stupidly heavy, and sit on the armrest leaning to see if the bike box goes on okay.

Whilst distracted by my own necessities my tone with an old Italian man is clearly not cocksuckingly pleasant enough, resulting in a torrent of abuse that I am rude, and could not be Italian for being so rude, that I should respect my elders, and so on. All because he threw his boarding pass at me and said "that right?" Apparently he could be my father, to which I retort that yes but he would be much nicer if he were.

The girl and I swap looks like "really?" And I jokingly let out a "dun dun dun dun dun dun" with wide eyes as the bike box wobbles up the conveyor below our window.

5 minutes before 20:00 and we finally get into the sky. That's 5 minutes before they may need to pay compo, five minutes before a plane-full of complaints.

In the 40 or so minutes sitting whilst they fuel I check my saved searches, see that this is in Milano and offer a price 30% lower than asking. Into the skies...

Waiting for luggage a half hour, I swap instagram details with the contemporary jewellery designer I'd killed 20 mins discussing design with on the flight. Bags come out, bike box first, and then a poor guy has had his 'hard' wheelie case reduced to broken quavers in a multipack, he must have been regretting that 'free hold luggage' label.

Back at the ladyfriend's family home and I check emails. The offer was accepted.

Must pay and get this delivered, but hopefully I now have the automatic sibling of the rat watch.

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