The end of a holiday is usually the part where you wind down. On this occasion I have trouble remembering when I was last quite so wound up

Our lovely hotel was – as ever – taking good care of us. They had ensured a taxi for us in good time to get to the airport, the breakfast was as delicious as ever (you simply can’t beat freshly-baked Danish rolls!) and we came down in (very) good time with our cases.

So, just a matter of settling the bill (which, understandably, was not small…)

The day before I’d successfully used my debit card to pay for our taxi fares, with no issues. So I had no doubts at all about using it to settle the bill (the equivalent, in Danish kroner, of about £600.)

The transaction appeared to go through with no problems. So you can imagine my horror when a quick notification from my banking app informed me that I’d just spent close on £5000

I called the bank, immediately, and international call rates be damned. 20 minutes later I was still on hold. Which I didn’t appreciate…

When I did (finally) get through to a human being I began by forcefully reminding myself she wasn’t personally responsible for this catastrophic f***up. When I explained what had happened she told me there’d been a similar problem with Icelandic kroner earlier in the day – and assured me she’d report the incident and get the transaction sorted. But it would take ‘four or five days’.

(That was on 20 April. I’m writing this post on 5 May. And NatWest are still sitting on £4000+ of my money. Incandescent, moi? Well yes, actually. And to the extent that after 54 years they may very well lose my business…)

I was slightly mollified when we were able to get help from the Danish organisation Falck at the airport. I was taken to the plane in a wheelchair, with VIP treatment all the way. Only problem was that the RyanAir flight we were booked on was delayed by three hours. Most of which I spent on a very hard chair near the gate. With catastrophic effects on my bum. (Boris the tumour doesn’t like being sat on. And likes hard chairs even less…)

The flight itself was short and sweet, and – since my wheelchair arrival had meant we were the first on board – the crew were very attentive to our needs (thank you, guys). We were also last off, since they assured us – somewhat to my surprise – that help had been arranged at Stansted, too.

It had. And I had very pleasant conversations with the three different carers who wheeled me safely through immigration and customs to the arrivals lounge, where Mike Drain of Superb Travel Suffolk was waiting to take us home. (Thanks, Mike – and thanks to Stowmarket & District Chamber of Commerce for raising the funds to cover his fee.)

By this time Boris had rallied his horrible supporters in force, and I was supremely uncomfortable despite the excellent accommodation in Mike’s capacious taxi. Luckily the stresses and strains of the day finally caught up with me in a positive way – and when I woke up, we’d arrived at the house.

Not what you’d call the perfect end to a holiday – but I’m supremely grateful to all the many people who did their best to make it as easy for me as they could. You are all superstars…