The plan was neat and straightforward. Newcastle to Heathrow in Club Europe, a quick visit to the Concorde Room, then the 22:00 departure to Riyadh in business. A day to dash around the city, a return in First, eight hours of lounge grazing at Heathrow on Sunday, and back home to Newcastle by 10 pm. At least that was the plan.
The trip began, as always, with an Uber to Newcastle Airport. Check in and security were quick, less than ten minutes kerbside to departures, slowed only by the familiar iPad swab that seems to come with my ticket every time.
I made the usual stop at Aster and Thyme. Priority Pass still gets £18 credit, which I consider better invested in champagne than in food.
Then it was down to the Aspire Lounge where they were offering Suite upgrades. I went for it. The price has crept up to £22, it used to be £15, but the perks are still worthwhile. Unlimited fizz, table service, and a menu that at least makes an effort.
No sooner had I settled into my seat than the trouble started. Flighty chimed in with a delay, first thirty minutes, then forty two, then forty eight, then over an hour. The Concorde Room was already fading from view, but I reminded myself I had eight hours there on the way back.
I ordered the bar snacks, a chicken burger, and sticky toffee pudding. None of it memorable, but all of it is miles ahead of the buffet in the Luxe area. As an added bonus, for most of my stay I had the Suite to myself, very civilised.
Then the flight updates continued coming. Two hours late, then two hours twenty, then two hours thirty five. At that point Riyadh was gone.
The BA priority line confirmed what I already knew. I could still fly to Heathrow, miss the Riyadh connection, and be rebooked the following day. That would give me about eight hours on the ground before having to fly home again. Utterly pointless. Could the return be shifted back a day? No availability, not even with a space release. Separate PNRs made the situation even more awkward.
They suggested waiting in case of an equipment swap. I waited, with the help of a couple of JD’s. Nothing changed. Plan B was the only plan left: cancel the whole thing.
Because I was already checked in, the priority line could not process the cancellation until I went back landside to the check-in desks and had myself removed from the flight. Apparently the way to do this is to simply follow the domestic arrivals channel and walk straight out. No checks, no paperwork, just walk. Odd, but it worked.
At the desk the agent managed to uncheck me from both flights and added notes confirming the two hour plus delay and missed connection. Another call to the priority line and finally the bookings were cancelled. The Avios came back immediately, the cash for the return leg as well. The outbound cash refund now sits somewhere in the mysterious back office where it will emerge in due course.
By 7:50 pm I was back home. Five and a half hours after leaving, with nothing to show except four calls to the priority line, a trip to the lounge, and getting no further than Newcastle Airport.
The silver lining is that the whole trip has been rebooked for next weekend. Same destination, similar flights, but a safer outbound that should mean more time in the Concorde Room and less risk of this kind of collapse.
And really, this is part of what travel is about. Not every trip runs smoothly, sometimes things fall apart before you even leave the ground. It can be frustrating in the moment, but it is also part of the game. If every flight ran perfectly there would be fewer stories to tell, and certainly fewer lessons learned for next time. This one ended before it began, but I am not annoyed, it is simply another page in the diary of travel. Riyadh will wait, and the next attempt will be all the sweeter for it.
So that is it, the trip that never happened.