Tell me it's not true...

Our kind friend the Exile took us to Albany airport, and we were there in plenty of time. Only one problem: as we checked in we learnt that the flight was due to be delayed by up to three hours - we were almost certainly going to miss our overnight connection to the UK.

We debated getting a taxi home and driving down to Newark instead, but decided to take our chances. So we checked our bags and went airside. The Man set about working out alternatives if we were to miss the UK flight, and I tried to keep the children entertained in the cafe and the gift shop.

Now, if your bags are checked in and you are airside in good time, the plane doesn't leave without you. Well, does it?

Yes, it does! They reduced the delay, announced it only in the six-foot square area of the departure gate, and they **** well left without us.

"Oh, darn it to heck!" we said. Or maybe those weren't our exact words.

What to do now? Our flight to Heathrow was due to leave in three hours, about the length of time it would take to drive to Newark. But maybe there'd be a delay, maybe we could still make it if we just wished hard enough...

Enter a hero, in the form of the Exile. A less charitable soul would have heard our tale of woe and quite reasonably said, "Missed your flight? That's too bad, what are you going to do about that then". But our Exile is a friend indeed, and in deed.

He drove us to Newark. 166 miles. Two hours and fifty tense and untalkative minutes. Never have two and half less enjoyable hours passed so quickly as we desperately tried to hold back time.

And of course we still missed the flight.

Noble Exile. He hung around with us until it was certain that we'd be put on the next morning's flight. Then he drove 166 miles home again. We are forever in his debt.

But that left us at Newark Airport in the middle of the night, so our next job was to find a hotel. Everywhere seemed to be full - except the Econolodge! As cheap and cheerless as the name suggests. But that didn't bother us, we were only there for a matter of hours. We had to be up again at 4am in order to check in at five.

A word here for the Girl and Boy, who throughout this disastrous journey rose to the occasion and behaved with supernatural goodness. Even attempting to eat breakfast at 5:30am when they were feeling sick with tiredness (the Boy did actually throw up) they were uncomplaining. Well done, kids.

Happily, everything went smoothly after that. Tired as they were, the children weren't going to miss out on a full six hours of personal TV watching just to sleep, and they thoroughly enjoyed Alvin and the Chipmunks and other televisual delights of the Virgin flight. At Heathrow we caught a rambling Greenline bus to Watford, and soon we were comfortably snacking round my parents' kitchen table and it was as if none of it - not the crazy journey, not America at all in fact - had ever happened.

We're looking forward to the rest of our UK trip. As for the return journey, well it's bound to go horribly wrong so I guess we'll just deal with it as it happens.