A little bit of history repeating

Some people have a criminal history. Others have a medical history. I have a history of missing planes.

I woke up this morning to torrential drizzle, and grey skies. Half my mattress was wet because my window was open overnight. My tennis bag was still empty as i spent last night lamenting over a couple of personal matters that were troubling me.

I had some chit chat with Lawrence, my flat mate, and he watched me packing with disbelief on his face, as I had about 2 hours to go before my flight. ' I always do this', I reassured him.

I caught the tram in the rain to the nearest rail station and panicked as i realised i had just missed a train and the next one was not going to get me to the airport in time. It was eleven thirty. My flight was going to start boarding in half an hour. I lugged my tennis bag around looking for a taxi stand, and just as I saw it, I saw the only passenger get in the only taxi.

"Are you going to schipol?" - it came out as more of a plead than a question.
She shook her head. 'I have a flight to catch in twenty minutes,' I told the driver as he helped the lady into the car.

"Can you please call me another cab?" he looked at me, then looked at her and started talking in dutch. She agreed on something and he put my bag in the car.
"There are no cabs around today", he said, gesturing for me to get in quickly. I turned to the lady in the back seat gratefully. "i'm going to a funeral" she said. "oh. I'm sorry." I replied. When it was time for her to get out, I told her I would pay for the cab. She was grateful in return.

Against the odds of facing a traffic jam, check in being closed when I arrived, a forty minute line at security, I was, eventually, the last person to board the flight to Pisa, and the flight left on time.

It's now twenty eight degrees, and cloudless in Pisa.