Well somewhat predictably the great British winter had a say in my January departure. A cold snap and plenty of snow shut Manchester Airport for a few hours the day before I was due to fly. This was enough to cause carnage the following day too with plenty of flights delayed and the terminal building resembling a transit camp.

I had a good 2 hours to change flights in Frankfurt (yes Fankfurt) to pick up the plane to Bogota but things got off to a shaky start when the early morning news of an hour’s delay landed in my inbox. This hour grew to 1.5 then 2 hours by the time the plane was ready to take off. I worked out that we’d be touching down in Frankfurt about 10 minutes before my plane to Colombia was taking off. It didn’t look good.

But somehow the (female) captain had other ideas. She must have eaten her weetabix that morning because I was gobsmacked to see the streets of Frankfurt looming large, a full 40 minutes earlier than expected. How do you make up 40 minutes on a 1 hour 45 minute flight!? Fly it like you stole it. So I was again in with a chance of actually making the flight. I’d have almost 30 minutes from runway touchdown to gate closing. Can it be done!? I certainly didn’t fancy being stuck in Frankfurt so the race was on:

• How long will it take the plane to taxi to the stand?
• How long will it take to get off? (I’m stuck almost right at the back of the plane)
• What if there’s a dreaded shuttle bus to the terminal?
• Will I need to go through immigration?
• How far from the arrival gate to the departure gate?

All this and more flying through my head as I watch the second hand sweeping across my watch. I give it a go. “Excuse me, excuse me, fat Brit coming through”.. no bus great! no immigration desk great! Gates at the same terminal great! It can’t be that far from gate Z12 to Z50 can it? They might be opposite!?… nope!

Turns out that the gates are almost the full length of the airport apart… I start to sprint… or rather a bellowing Gus sprint, like a fatally injured wilderbeast staggering across the savannah refusing to admit defeat. Not easy to do along the never-ending travelators scattering startled cabin crew like bowling pins. Pausing occasionally to check the time and try to regather my faltering breath… so close now… only 10 more gates and 2 minutes until gate closure.. the final push… I spot the gate…and still loads of people there yay! But I don’t know if they’re for my flight or possibly the next one.. I push to the front.. BOGOTA!? yes, scan your boarding pass. I made it! Not the best preparation for a 12 hour flight.. sweating and wheezing as I squeeze into my seat… but I’m there.

It was something of a pisstake to be sat on the plane as it flew over the UK about 100 miles from where I’d gone to the airport a full 8 hours previously. A small silver lining was being able took out the window while the plane chased the setting sun across the North Atlantic… it was very beautiful and pretty strange. Due to the curvature of the earth and the location of the sun, it was the first time I’d looked down to see the sun, very strange.