After spending two weeks dealing with family affairs, I was ready to return to Canada. I had already booked to stay at a hotel near Gatwick airport the night before my flight; scheduled to leave early the next day. The plan was to return the rental car and then go to the hotel.

I started my 20 mile journey to Gatwick South Terminal in snow and ice, knowing that many roads were closed or dangerous, but actually got there with little trouble. Alas, here is where chaos started.

Hundreds of confused people were milling about the terminal or queuing for transportation to hotels; all flights were cancelled, at least until 6:00 am the next day. My choice was not to bother with the pre-booked hotel but, under advice, stay the night in the North Terminal. Here there were more eating facilities and, perhaps, warmer surroundings. I took the shuttle train and optimistically prepared a "camping" spot for the duration.

I pulled out various items of clothing for padding. The floor was smooth, made of very hard concrete and the quiet location which I had selected for my "bedroom" was surprisingly quite chilly. After settling down for an hour, I soon realized that I needed more effective insulation between me and the substrate. A quick tour around the lounge gave me the solution. Many were using large sheets of packing cardboard so I quickly and successfully went on a salvage expedition. Rearranging my gear, I tried once again to simulate some degree of home comfort. Donning my Canadian golf cap to shield myself from the blinding overhead lights, I began my quest for some slumber.

This I was not able to achieve. Every twenty minutes the public address system reminded us all of the dangers of leaving any bags unattended; and for occasional variety, I was treated to the knowledge that the airport would likely be closed for a further 24 hours after the previously promised 6:00 am opening. All this was even punctuated by enthusiastic airport cleaning staff clattering their equipment and chatting about every conceivable topic that came into their minds. The snow began to fall heavier and heavier outside.

The morning brought confirmation of the further twenty-four hour closure with news that the shuttle train back to the South Terminal was frozen; this meant a cold bus return to make enquiries about my flight departure. After a mere 3 hours sleep, I blearily noted that there was now at least a foot of snow outside. This is a bad amount for the UK, whose lack of preparation for poor weather has become a common subject of mirth in many other countries.

The people at the flight desk were uncertain of what was going to happen and could only say, "Please return every hour or so for any announcements". So, in short, I was to spend a long, boring, uncertain 20 hours carrying the weight of the fatigue from the previous night.

Eventually I found a place which was warm, called the "village".....a mezzanine floor which ordinarily would have shops, restaurants etc. but it was being "renovated"; so no luck here! At least, I thought, I might get a better night's sleep with extra blankets and more cardboard which seemed to be in plentiful supply. However the presence of a large group of partying Italians soon eclipsed that idea....This night: no sleep at all!...instead, I was treated to down-sized soccer games, birthday celebrations and boisterous songs in their native language. For me and many others, the cultural flavour of this experience became rather bitter by 4:30 am.

At 5:00 am I learned that our plane was to fly from Stansted Airport (North London) and that everyone would be bussed there at 6.00 am. It would leave at 12:30 pm; so I had, at least, something positive to anticipate. I did not realize that the journey would involve mustering in a cold marquee, outside in the snow, before boarding the even colder buses. These would take nearly 2 hours to get there. On arrival at the airport I found that the manifest list had not been sent from Gatwick and that this would cause an hours delay in checking in our luggage. After the following "security check," there would be another two hours prior to boarding the plane.

When I did finally board the plane, there was a delay of a further two hours due to a mechanical fault and the necessary de-icing of the wings. During the first hour the door was left wide open to allow the maintenance men to come and go with their wrenches and drills; unfortunately I was seated right in the path of the wind. After what, in comparison, seemed a short nine hours after take-off, I arrived in Vancouver.

When I did get home, I found out that my dog was mortally sick and had to be euthanized that same evening.

My advice is: