I keep posting ads to sell the bear's fur before I've killed it, but the bear reads my blog so it escapes me every time.
O baffled reader, let me explain... this refers to an old French saying warning against premature celebrations.
Having once again arrived at the gate in plenty of time for my flight, I hastily concluded that everything else would go swimmingly and the day would be as boring as can be hoped. That was, of course, waaaay premature.
Due to "difficulties" getting the plane over to Brussels from its original nesting spot in London Hellrow, and subsequent turnover issues (whateveeeer), my flight left over an hour and a half late, cutting down severely on my connection time.
Now in the interest of preserving the good cardiovascular health of my readership (taking a page from an Adams whose given name was neither John nor Sam) I shall abridge the suspense by disclosing immediately that this did not compromise my connection in any way -- mostly because it was fairly large to begin with. What was compromised was my pre-flight meal! Which I am sure I will miss very sorely, although I have been able to replace it by the best medicine I could find that would treat both my stomach and my budding head cold. Hint: it's just what the Doctor ordered.
I am now past security and very near to my gate, with an eye firmly fixed on the clock and the other spell-checking my fingers as I type this. One more gulp of medicine and I'll pack up the laptop and move over to the gate itself.
Here I go.