They say that the easiest way for the elderly to get abroad in by air.
OK, first we have to fly to London. You arrive, you try to check in to your connecting flight, and BA assumes that you must be too late for Verona, since the Glasgow flight had been delayed. BA had put us on an earlier flight (also delayed, but arriving at Gatwick at the right time) We sit there, looking pathetic and elderly and you explain to himself what's going on. He doesn't hear very well. Success! An upgrade.
Coming back, Verona airport is hell. 3 flights to the UK all close together, so they try to make a bit of space by shovelling everyone into the 'departure lomnge'. No space, no seats, precious little air. After the first two have gone, you get a seat by a open door and try to breathe a bit.
Once back in Gatwick, you have hours to kill, so you fetch a cup of coffee for him, and fetch a paper for him, to give him a chance to sit in peace for a little while. By the time you go to bed you're knackered.
Tough luck! In the middle of the night you're jerked upright by what sounds as if the house is blowing up. A brlliant white light and a crash of circuits dropping out (as you realise later), a peal of thunder louder than you can remember in all your life. The house vibrates, the cat howls with fright and goes mad and scratching the door - it sounds more like he's trying to break the door down. The thunder rolls, the lightning flashes, the cat caterwauls.
In the morning, you feel guilty. You ought to have made sure that himself was OK. If that din hasn't roused him maybe he was past rousing (he was only fast asleep)
And the TV has been sabotaged. That's another episode of 'Heimat' missing
There now, I've had a nice moan. so I can remember the bit between the airports, when the Italian sun shone on the lake below the balcony and a very satisfactory dinner appeared on the table - no thought, just eat.