“Your attention please. We’re sorry to announce that flight 1418 will be further delayed by 4 hours due to rain and heavy fog. We apologize for the inconvenience.”
You mutter “Shit”, and look at around for the nearest concession where you can get a stiff drink, ” ‘Landing Lounge’ it is…”, striding and pulling your carry on.
You settle in at the bar, catching the bartender’s eye, “Sapphire martini, three olives.” A rustle at your elbow, and a male voice, “Same here, and both on my tab.”
You turn, about to assert your independence, and are stopped by my wry crooked smile. “Please let me get this; because I’m going to trust you to watch my bag and coat for 5 minutes while I find a bathroom!” Smiling, you nod.
I head out and you wait. In a surprisingly short time until two large martinis materialize. You take a long pull, eyes half closed, feeling the cocktail slide down your throat, ice cold and soothing. You glance at the jacket tossed over my seat and can’t resist a peek at the label, eyebrows going up as you recognize a Savile Row tailor.