Catriona McPherson shares Holiday Travel Nightmares.

 RHYS BOWEN:  I've never met anyone who can take a personal disaster, embarrassment or awkward situation and make it hysterically funny the way Catriona McPherson can. Of course when she's telling in person, in that understated, self-deprecating style it's even more brilliant, but it's pretty funny on the page too.  

We're thrilled to have Catriona here today to celebrate her latest book in the Last Ditch Motel series and to share the sort of travel nightmare we all fear. Tell us about it, Catriona:

CATRIONA MCPHERSON:  In HOP SCOT, Lexy Campbell and the rest of the crew from the Last Ditch Motel in California all travel to Scotland together for Christmas. Ugh, right? Holiday travel? But wait: they go on a private jet!

I didn’t go on a private jet the only time I went home to Scotland for Christmas since moving over to California in 2010, and it was . . . an experience. If I hadn’t been going to a family wedding as well, I’m not sure I would have persevered. And how clever was it of my nephew and now niece to get married in that dead time between Christmas and New Year? It’ll never be dead time for them again – they turned two celebrations into three!

The one time I did have a total travel nightmare was getting home for another family wedding (I have sixteen nephews and nieces (and fourteen in the next generation down (so far))).

For a start, the wedding was the Saturday of Bouchercon. Not ideal, although it could have been worse because Bouchercon was in Raleigh that year, i.e. the east coast, i.e. halfway there already.

 “At Bouchercon with Ali Karim”

The plan was simple. I would hop up to Newark Liberty on a puddle-jumper on the Friday and meet Neil off the flight from San Francisco, then together we would take the 8pm United overnight to Edinburgh, pick up a car and drive to the hotel with a ton of time to get ready.

No way that could go wrong.

It went wrong.

Because of bad weather in Texas, there were planes backed up all over the country and my little ninety-minute hop was never going to be a landing priority. So we left Raleigh and circled and circled and circled. I wasn’t worried; I had a five hour window at Newark. Things were fine. And we circled and circled and circled. We got snacks as we circled, we got chatting as we circled, we even got some of the best customer service I’ve ever seen on a plane as we circled: the steward stood at the front and said, “I know some of you might only have gotten on this very small plane because it was supposed to be a very short flight. So, if you’re feeling uneasy all these hours later, let me know if you need a hug.” Awww. I didn’t need a hug but I was tempted.

And we circled. I got too late for the 8pm transatlantic flight but there’s a 10pm too. And we circled. The snacks ran out. And we circled.

Then we stopped circling. We flew for a while and we landed! In Washington. Because we were about to run out fuel, which is a lot worse than running out of snacks. We all got off the tiny plane: the family who were going to Italy with their toddler; the two students going to Delhi; the resigned, the aggrieved, the grumpy, the cheerful . . . and together we stormed the United rep at the gate looking for alternative arrangements.

I was offered a hotel for the night. I said I was going to my niece’s wedding. The rep shrugged and said the family would understand. Then my eyes filled with tears all on their own and one splotched down onto the desk. I’m not usually a huge howler, but this was going to be the first time my family were all together since my sister’s funeral and it didn’t feel like a small thing to miss it.

The rep gave me the kind of look a woman would deserve if she cried over a random wedding and I said, trying to get some of my dignity back, “It’s not the wedding as such. Thing is, my sister died-” He gasped. “Oh God,” he said, bending lower over his screen and clicking like mad suddenly. I was kind of surprised by the size of the reaction, to be honest. Then I realised what had happened. He didn’t know the truth – that the bride’s mum was right there with her, that a different sister had died, that I was in no way stepping into a breach for my niece. I opened my mouth to tell him all that and a very peculiar thing happened.

I swear that my late and much loved sister leaned down to me, from up there, and said quite emphatically, “Shut up!”   

 “still miss her so much”

I shut up. The rep kept clicking and started spouting airport names and tight connections at me, but then, just as I was agreeing to have my bag removed from the plane, we both heard pounding footsteps approach. It was the pilot. “We’re going!” he said. “Let’s go!”

And off we went. In the forty-minute trip to Newark, the cuddly steward got us all set. I had ten minutes to race across to another terminal and there would be a buggy waiting to take me. The two Delhi-bound students had about fifteen minutes and they had a buggy lined up too. Everyone else on the flight prepared to sit tight and let the three of us sprint for the door. This included the family with the toddler going to see their nonna. They hadn’t a hope and were booked into a hotel in New Jersey for the night. They did provide one of the lighter moments, mind you. They had obviously told the little one that they’d go up in the air and come down. Then they’d go up in the air again and come down again. And the second time they came down, they’d be in Italy. And so, when our puddle jumper landed so very close to Raleigh, eight hours after we left, this toddler stood up on his seat with both his arms up in a victory salute, shouting “Italia! Italia!”

How hollowly we all laughed. Then, saying goodbye to my friends on either side of the aisle, and the sweet steward, I galloped down to the buggy, to the other terminal, to where another steward was standing in the middle of the floor in an empty run of gates. “Are you Catriona McPherson?” she shouted. I confirmed that I was. She yelled “She’s here!” down the jetway.

I gave her my bag, collapsed into my seat, we started to taxi, wheels came off the tarmac and I had made it! I didn’t sleep a wink from all the adrenaline (and the sugar and MSG in the many, many snacks), but I got off the plane at Edinburgh the next morning, still beaming. There was Neil and all our luggage and the car was waiting and I saw the wedding and danced the night away.

 “the top half of the wedding was Greek”

So really I’m not sure if that’s my worst travel nightmare or my best ever dream-come-true trip. You tell me! And while you’re at it, let me know your nightmares too.

 “The bottom half was Scottish”