All my friends were able to go to and from Loughborough as they pleased – but not I.
While they were either happy in the East Midlands or had easy transport elsewhere, all my attempts to get a flight out of town failed. The closest I came to an exit was eating a stale croissant with butter and raspberry jam at the airport. There was no way that British Airways was going to allow me onto a flight. Indeed the staff attended to everyone else in the queue before me, and I never reached the front of the ticket desk.
I discussed my plight with a fat woman on a bicycle by the canal. She suggested that I try to escape by using the back exit of town. This didn’t work. Although her suggested route took me through a beautiful restaurant (and thus proved that Loughborough does have its attractions) I still ended up stranded in a dismal street with the battery in my Blackberry fast running out.
Meanwhile TPR was living it up wherever he was, enjoying the company of a string of women who were safe in the knowledge that I was far away, trapped forever in the East Midlands.