So

Karen's flight from LAX landed only a little late at Heathrow; two hours on from that, she should now have boarded for the hop up to Newcastle.

I am myself heading off for the airport now, leaving a chaos of house behind me (and two vastly entertained cats, who have been Helping), and allowing myself barely any more time to cover the six miles out to my airport than Karen has to cover the three hundred or whatever from LHR. This strikes me as entirely reasonable, and not at all neurotic. *nods*

Habet!

I can haz Karen!

Not, unfortunately, her luggage. How cliche is that? Of course BA has lost her luggage at Heathrow.

So I was ever-so-slightly anxious as time passed and passed and she didn't appear through the arrivals gate; but there were others fretting, and then they started getting phone-calls from the other side of the barrier, and the lucky few came through saying "There's a hundred and fifty people back there without their bags," so I didn't utterly flip. Even so: I did somewhat stress, and I did hate each and every person who wasn't Karen until at last one of them was.

And I have forgotten to buy diet Dr Peppers, and she may never forgive me; but she did think to pack the boys' stockings in her carry-on, so they'll be all right in the morning.

Further than that, deponent sayeth not.