The Lost Baggage Saga or skiing out of Terminal 5 in borrowed salopettes

This correspondent has been away from his blogging duties due to a combination of illness, Terminal 5 Heathrow, lost baggage and ski trip adventures.

The timing was spectacular. Having been excited about the prospect of flying out of the newly opened (by HM Queen no less) and recently operational, many billions-costing, Richard Rogers-designed Terminal 5, Heathrow's newest glory, our party found ourselves in the midst of one of the biggest public project false starts since the Millennium Dome met the Millennium wobbly bridge over the Thames. We being the intrepid school ski party. What should have been Day 3 of the new super-charged Terminal 5 (or T5 as the cognoscenti started calling it - the name got shorter as the baggage trail got bigger) showing the world its wonders turned into the third day of a Very British Airport Breakdown. The much-heralded superfast bag-handling system, capable of processing up to 12,000 bags per hour, had started malfunctioning and sending luggage various to variously different destinations, apart from where the passengers were headed. Flights were cancelled, passengers waiting hours on the concourse for flights delayed - the Chief Executive of BA apologising but not resigning - turning disaster into technical difficulties and a mea culpa into a marketing strategy.

Advised to keep checking the electronic board for news of our flight we had the green light it would be operating via the neon glow of the website, and the Party Leader (also doubling up as travel agent and this correspondent's wife) duly gave the order to implement Phase One of the Ski Party Reach Destination Plan - the airport run. This consisted of 2 school minibuses, about half the party and some of the luggage, driven by Party Leader No 1 Daughter and ex-HM of said school. Upon arrival checked in to an emptier-than-average departure hall (stunningly rendered by the Rogers outfit) due to cancellations, to be greeted by tales of woe from the long-suffering check-in desk staff: management not supporting front-line staff who took the brunt of passenger angst and aggravation. Disgruntlement was taken to an art form that day.

Along the concourse flagged by shops, designer outlets and eateries of one sort or another lay a noticeable lack of seating for those not inclined to shop or eat. After the misdirecting of the departure gate we eventually found ourselves sitting on a plane that was yet to depart for some time. Apparently, there was missing paperwork that had found its way off the flightdeck and had to be re-located. A very embarrassed pilot explained the delay and we eventually took off into the blue yonder. The usual talk on board the plane of family, history, education, careers. The mother sitting in the next seat was a photographer-turned fruit farmer. The party had a late arrival in Munich, and the luggage carousel told the story - 14 bags missing from the 42-member group roster, including all of the party leader's luaggage and her partner's (the author all present and correct). After more delays to fill out forms, collection of BA-issue emergency toiletry bags, food purchasing and general consternation at the lateness of the hour exacerbated by fatigue, the bus left Munich Airport bound for Austria, Salzburg and St Johann im Pongau. Our doughty travel rep, retired teacher who had recently been involved in a horrific car accident and wore a neck-brace, met us with the bus and the journey continued. We eventually arrived at the Hotel Sonnhof, Alpendorf, St Johann im Pongau to be welcomed with the typically Austrian soup dish, gulashsup.

That night the party leader and her assistant (the present author) were left pondering. The thing about losing luggage on a ski trip is that one has packed to ski and the whole raison d'etre, clothing-wise, seems a bit lost if the whole kit and caboodle (gloves, hats, ski suit etc) is having a holiday of its own. This was as nothing, though, to the worry of the missing parents the following day......