Travel Insurance Can’t Cover You For Silly Behaviour
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by: David Rowtree
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Word Count: 484
However, I’d always assumed that when the time did come to utter these immortal words, it would be to make some romantic dash to an exotic location. I didn’t realise that it would be because I’d the hangover from hell and was about to miss a flight home from Prague. Relying on the alarm on a mobile phone, will only ever work if you remember not to let the battery run out.
The taxi driver was great; he kept beaming at me in the rear view mirror, gesturing the universal sign for ‘sore head from too much booze’ as he put his foot down on the back streets to the airport. Despite all his best efforts, I did miss the flight, but it was one of those situations where there really was no one else to blame but myself. Luckily I managed to squeeze in on the next flight. Not so lucky was that this gave me time to recollect the events of the previous night that led me to miss the flight in the first place.
What is it about the last night of a holiday that seemingly incites us to undo all the good work spent unwinding and relaxing? In my case it was the discovery that beer is cheap in Prague because it doesn’t seem to have much effect, whereas the cocktails, on the other hand, do and they’re cheap. Sitting in the airport, nursing a sore head, the events of the previous night came back to me.
All I could conclude was that I’d been incredibly lucky. Lucky that I’d woken up at all. Especially after leaving myself an hour to sleep before getting to the airport, but failing to charge my phone. Lucky, because no amount of travel insurance would have covered me for damage if the tables I decided to use as a ‘stage’ for a 3am song and dance routine, had broken or collapsed. And mostly, lucky because I would never see any of the Australian backpackers, who’d been treated to my impromptu karaoke performance, ever again.
It could have been a lot worse. I managed to make it make to England only 8 hours late. Sheepish phone calls made, that put more blame on budget airlines than myself, it looked as though if I slept on the plane, no one would be any the wiser to my antics the previous night. Obviously, I swore, I was never going to drink again. Ever.
In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t envisage that what was officially a ‘Bad Day’ could get much worse. Imagine my horror as I felt a tap on my shoulder after leaving baggage reclaim and heading into the orange glow of Gatwick airport.
“Hey!” said a friendly antipodean voice, “Thought I recognised that face. Weren’t you the one dancing on the table in the hostel last night?”
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