You know you are getting old when you put your back out trying on a new pair of trousers. That’s what I did yesterday as I did a desperate scramble to get some appropriate clothing to wear to a blogging conference. If this is sounding familiar it’s because it is – remember the debacle of trying to find an outfit for the last blogging conference I attended.

I swear I tried to be more organised this time. I had flights booked, hotel sorted and BUSINESS CARDS ORDERED weeks before the event.

The clothes, well as usual it was a struggle. Princess Child took control and refused to allow me into the shops on my own and eventually we did get something that will do.

I race out of work this afternoon, home to get the specially ordered business cards that I had forgotten to pack, and then off to the airport.

5.40 pm flight will be enjoying wine with my friend by 7.00pm.

Well that was the plan.

Flight was delayed. I filled in time doing stretching exercises in my chair to try to ease the pain in my dodgy back and reading a novel that focused on the end of the world. The scenario being the world stops turning which leaves us in a constant state of darkness and really screws up gravity – planes start dropping out of the air. Comforting.

Eventually the staff tell us the plane has technical difficulties and they cannot advise what our departure time will be.

People crowd the vending machine – the cafe is closed – I have visions of us desperately fighting over the final packet of salt ‘n vinegar chips as it becomes survival of the fittest.

Speaking of which, we can determine from this evening the I wouldn’t be the fittest in a race for survival. I’m just TOO DAMN TRUSTING.

Others ignore the fact the flight hasn’t been officially cancelled and book out the opposition airline’s 6.30am flight tomorrow. Obviously they are the ones who will survive the meteorite/nuclear blast/climate warming because they will have THOUGHT AHEAD. I naively think a replacement flight would be scheduled when you’ve got, like, you know, a whole plane load of people needing to get somewhere, alas no.

An insect crawls across my foot as I wait in the queue seeking information. Is it a cricket or a cockroach? Probably a roach, just them and the think-ahead-go-to-the-opposition people will be left standing when the end arrives.

The just-in-case toilet stop I took before my flight was due to leave has now passed it’s used-by date and I need to pee. I cross my legs. I CAN’T LEAVE THIS QUEUE I DON’T WANT TO BE THE LAST PERSON IN THE LINE. ‘Cause I’m guessing last in line is going to be left with a departure sometime at Easter.

I wait until I’m told by a person in authority it’s over and therefore miss out on alternative airline’s 6.30am flight. Now I’m told my airline can’t get me to my conference until probably the after party drinks.

I call Mr Shambles to come and collect me. I arrive home to take to the phone and insist to the airline I require a refund, because my only alternative now is to DRIVE to Sydney and that takes PETROL. A credit note for a future flight is damn near useless to a family that only flies once every two years. They accommodate my request because I think my tone is starting to indicate I’m a woman on the edge.

Google maps have provided me with directions to my hotel. My alarm is set for 4.00am and I’m off to bed. Don’t tell me I’m not a dedicated blogger.

PS A better blogger than me would have got photos to illustrate this post, I however, was focused on being beaten in the survival stakes by more canny individuals than me, please imagine a shot of the inside of a regional airport. Thank you.