Falling off the waggon

Honeybuns' cats don't travel well, so since I was to be formally Introduced to the Honeymom, who lives up north, I got to fly for the first time in several years. Domestic. With the cats. Well, the cats actually ended up somewhere in a pressurised hold, but they still had to be excavated from inside the sofa and under the bed and stuffed into their travel basket and then brought to the airport. However, as we were travelling on Midsummer's Eve, the airport was all but empty and the staff had time to be friendly and helpful. The baggage dropper even emptied out a box of forms for me so that I could check in the Swiss army knife I only realised halfway through the security control I still had in my pocket.

The flight up on a SAS Boeing 737-683 was uneventful; the clouds disappeared somewhere over the Gulf of Bothnia and we arrived in Umeå under blue skies. We got out on the apron, but there was very little traffic to smell or look at apart from a very cool-looking ambulance helicopter.

We had a good week (of which more anon) and then flew down, cats and all, on another -683, finishing with a circuit over Stockholm, which was at its most beautiful. I was so seated that I could look down on Honeybuns' house as we passed it on final approach.