Tomorrow, early morning, we fly to the South of France. We’ll be visiting friends who moved over for a while and, as an unashamed Francophile, I cannot wait to see their vie en France.

Sounds great, right? What’s the catch?! Well, guess what, ‘Doodah’ (a.k.a. T) is absolutely delighted to be going on holiday to see friends and we have been building him up for this trip for weeks. We booked this trip a long time ago and are so happy that the time has finally come. This anticipation and excitement appears to have rubbed off on T, who is simply buzzing to be at an airport, seeing planes take off and land, and generally doing anything that goes with being at an airport.

After a half day at nursery, we loaded the car and picked up T for the 2hr drive to Heathrow, apparently avoiding any major traffic issues Phew!

Now, we’ve done Heathrow a few times (and I many!) but we’ve never got a parking space with limitless toddler-induced door swinging room. And to think this was the closest space to a park and ride bus stop?! Unthinkable!

So, was our luck looking good? No. Nope! Just nope!

In turns out that tonight was the night T decided that all bets were off, any lived experience that could qualify as pre-text for a sensible evening out was entirely for the birds.

So after an eventful hour at @The Runway Bar on the 14th floor of the Hilton, we proceeded to enjoy a night we presumed only one of us could win,/!: that only one of us had a chance of winning.