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Mission transoprt granddad

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Anna Mulligan Mission Transport Granddad 7th October 2004, 4am: base camp Flash. Thump. Blinding light seared my eyes and pain shot through my stomach. Apparently I was difficult to wake so received a harsh kick from my sister Helen. Gradually, I regained my sense of consciousness and a strange cocktail of excitement and dread pulsed through my body. After all the months of waiting, all the planning, preparing and panic, the day had finally arrived. 5.30am, Base camp: the launch Dressed and washed we (that meaning me, my sister, and my mum) made a mad dash around the house mentally checking everything; toothpaste - check, books - check, bags packed - check, tickets - check, Granddad -? Granddad was of course in the kitchen criticizing and condemning. " It'll make us late," " come on!" "That will be forgotten," "come on!" "They'll not wait for you" and "COME ON!" were just a few of the phrases that penetrated our ears through the stress that enveloped us. ...read more.


Mum ferried us towards the correct queue and for the next half an hour we gradually eased forward towards the shining lit-up desk, Granddad complaining profusely that we had picked the wrong queue. After experiencing the derogatory process of waiting in line we arrived to find an all too smiley attendant ready to check us in. The bags were sent off on a journey of their own down a tunnel and we were sent through to departures. Miraculously, we made it through the metal detectors at the entrance to the departures lounge without them suspecting Granddad was a terrorist (although he did get some funny looks), and none of us had any lethal weapons such as nail files to hand over. Things were looking surprisingly good, everything was going okay and there was hope that I might actually enjoy this journey. I should have realised then that that would be too good to be true. 12.45, Departure lounge It should have been simple. ...read more.


"The last call for passengers travelling..." sounded ominously around the departure lounge again. THAT IS OUR FILGHT! 12.55, Departure gate We were forced to do the "run that isn't quite a run" The same kind people do they cross a road but do not wish to actually appear like they are running. I suppose it could have been called a trot, towards and through the departure gate, handing over our boarding passes in a flurry of paper. A quick glance outside the window and my heart missed a beat. It was colossal. A vast mass of metal dominating the view, and we would be on it any second now. 13.10, On board. We had made it. The panic and sense of responsibility had been diminished, for now at least, everything was normal. My little sister had already pulled a book out of her bag and was burying herself in it, Mum was complaining about how stuck up the airhostesses were, and Granddad was being told off and asked too return to his seat after trying to teach two old American women how to do an Irish jig. We had begun our journey to Australia. . ...read more.

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