8am, Dublin Airport. Shelly and Paul looking sheepish. Jeremy looking even more sheepish. Quite why he'd punched the concierge during the fracas the night before was anyone's guess. Jeremy hadn't offered an explanation, and Shelly and Paul hadn't asked for one. All they knew was that Jeremy had been asked to vacate the hotel immediately. Letting him stay until the morning had taken some effective persuasion skills. i.e.  Shelly pleading with the manager, and promising that the three of them would check out very first thing in the morning. Good job Shelly had been on an E.P.S. course. Her grovelling skills had been truly honed to perfection. When weeping and wailing didn't work, she feigned fainting. No kidding. She was flat out on the floor in reception. Paul nearly had a coronary. Jeremy looked on, perplexed.

But whatever, Jeremy had the upper hand. When trying to alert Paul to his evacuation predicament, he had also woken Shelly. Not surprising really as she had been snuggled up in Paul’s' bed.

ALL FLIGHTS TO MANCHESTER DELAYED - the message all passengers to Manchester dreaded - flashed on the departure screens. The weather had deteriorated. Torrents of rain raged down, and swept across the runway in impressive waves, carried along by the gale force torrents.

Paul and Shelly looked at Jeremy.

Jeremy, dropped his head slightly, and sighed, "Why does it always rain at weekends?"