Last week my brother Joe and I booked some cheap last-minute flights to London to do a bit o' Christmas shopping: €55 return to Gatwick for the both of us. It seemed like an absolute steal - the only catch was that we had to take the earliest flight there and the latest flight home, and that we'd be flying with Ryanair. Still, it seemed like a great deal, especially since we only got the tickets a week before departure.

The flights out were booked for Tuesday morning at quarter past six, meaning we had to be on a bus to the airport at three o'clock or so. My alarm was set for quarter past two, giving myself plenty of time to get ready. When it went off, I had only gotten about three hours sleep since Monday morning, when I was awake at seven to get my mother to the hospital for her outpatient appointment. Still, the excitement of getting the Christmas shopping done kept me going. Joe and I wrapped up well for the cold weather outside, and made our way to the bus stop. There was a thick blanket of snow over all the roads, and hardly a sound to be heard. It was very peaceful. The bus came fairly punctually, and we headed off to the airport. We had already checked in online at home, so we had a quick coffee to perk ourselves up before heading through security. So far, so good.

The departure gate was in one of the new airport buildings. We walked past the gate where the boys and I left for Sweden last year, and it made me feel nostalgic. There was nothing to do but wait for the flight, so we sat  down at our gate and relaxed. Outside the window, snow was falling heavily. A convoy of gritting machines was driving laps around the runway area, keeping it open for flights to take off and land. Things seemed to be running surprisingly smoothly. Our gate opened on time, and we made our way across the tarmac to our plane. The wind and snow was absolutely savage - ice was hitting us in the face as we walked. I'd never seen weather like it. Still, the flight managed to take off without incident. No turbulence or anything. I had forgotten how bad the in-flight experience was onboard a Ryanair flight. Every few minutes, the cabin crew were trying to sell us something. After an hour or so, we were caught in delays above Gatwick, waiting for the runway to clear. It wasn't a big deal, I was in no hurry anyway. We eventually landed safely and made our way through the airport. The first order of business was getting a train into the city.

There is a train station underneath the Gatwick terminal building, and a London train was there waiting for us. We got on, found two seats, and relaxed. It was a very pleasant way to start of the morning in England. There was some interesting scenery, including Battersea Power Station. I love trains. After a short delay, we arrived at Victoria station and battled through the crowds to get into the city centre. It was freezing in London. It was snowy and damp and windy, and very uncomfortable. No matter which direction you were facing, it felt like the weather was blowing directly into your face. This made it very difficult to get any Christmas shopping done, if not impossible. Apart from some muesli and a few cups of coffee, the only thing I bought all day was a set of new bass strings. At about four o'clock, Joe and I admitted defeat - there was no point staying out shopping in London. A bit of research told us that Gatwick duty-free had a branch of Harrod's, so we thought we might just cut our losses, go to the airport, and try our luck there.

We got to Victoria station at around five o'clock to get the train back to the airport. I thought it would have been plenty of time, the light wasn't due to leave for five hours or so. There were massive crowds in the station's concourse, but that didn't worry me. It was only when we got to the platform itself that we realised that something was wrong. There were trains standing at the platform, not moving. I asked a member of staff what was happening, and she couldn't give me any answers. I got the impression that the trains weren't moving at all. An announcement was made over the PA that a train was leaving for Horsham, eleven miles from Gatwick. A stampede of people ran for this train, they must have been hoping to make their own way to the airport after that. It seemed like a bad idea to go with them. I knew from a previous trip to London that there was a coach station nearby, so I thought we might go there to try and catch a bus to Gatwick. I thought this was a pretty clever idea, but a few hundred other people seemed to have thought of it as well - a queue for buses extended out of the front door of the building. A man at the ticket desk told us that the next bus for Gatwick would be leaving at ten o'clock, much too late for us. The roads there were reportedly treacherous. There was nothing to do but to go back to the train station and see if there were any updates.

We got back to the station to find that nothing had changed. A crowd had gathered on the platform, waiting for news. It didn't look good. We still had time to make the last flight out of Heathrow if there were flights available, so Joe and I headed to a nearby internet cafe to see if we could book something. Unsurprisingly, we couldn't. All the flights were sold out. We headed back to the train platform once again, and hoped that a train would leave. By this time, a bigger crowd had gathered. On the platforms in front and behind us, police were dealing with huge crowds crushing against barriers and pushing their way onto trains. It seemed that things could get ugly. I told Joe that I thought we should just book a hotel for the night and fly out in the morning, but he wanted to wait a little longer, so we did. Eventually, to my surprise, the doors of the train opened. I couldn't believe my eyes. The crowd started to push dangerously towards the narrow train door. People were getting squeezed badly, and it started to feel very claustrophobic. I grabbed Joe and pushed him into the carriage before following him. Miraculously, there were two free seats right next to a window, and we sat down. We were ecstatic, it seemed like everything was going to work out perfectly after all.

The train made its way slowly through the snow to the airport. At every train station, we saw massive crowds waiting. It looked pretty miserable. After the best part of an hour, we pulled into Gatwick and made our way to the departure gates. Our flight seemed to be delayed, but we didn't care. The main thing was that we made it to the airport. With all the train delays, a lot of other passengers appeared to be running late for their flights. This made the security checks very interesting. Tensions were running high, and people refused to queue properly. It was like a zoo. We eventually passed through security and into the departures area proper. There wasn't a whole lot to do. Most of the shops were about to close, except for a HMV and a WH Smith. I bought some Maltesers, they killed about ten minutes. Meanwhile, our flight became even more delayed. There was a woman sitting alone in a chair across from me, and we struck up a conversation. Her name was Margaret, and she was from Naas. She was over visiting her daughter, and now she was waiting for the same flight as us. After a while, passengers started to come back from the departure gates, looking confused. It seemed that the runway was being closed, and passengers were being taken off of flights. Airline representatives were at the information desk with megaphones, advising passengers. Our flight was still a few hours away, so there was no information for us. As time went on, and the situation deteriorated, it seemed less and less likely that we'd be taking off. Ryanair representatives wouldn't even answer the phone to airport staff though, so we were still being kept in the dark. It was only after the scheduled flight time passed that we were given any news - our flight would not be going ahead, and we were to be taken back to the airport terminal to make new travel arrangements. I felt like getting sick.

Back in the terminal building, a representative told us what was happening in very confusing terms. Passengers on our flight had to go online and re-book flights, as Ryanair would not put us automatically on the next flight back to Dublin. We were also told that there was no accommodation and no way out of the airport, and that we should find somewhere to bed down in the terminal building and get some sleep. Joe, Margaret and I went up to the "internet cafe" (note the inverted commas I used there) to try and book some flights. There were about ten crappy computers with two printers between them, and a crowd of people milling around, waiting for their turn to go online. It was £1 for ten minutes use, and £1 for one sheet of A4 paper for printing. We eventually got online, and decided to book flights back to Dublin on Aer Lingus. Ryanair just seemed like a terrible option at this stage. Conditions at Gatwick seemed to be getting worse and worse - people were sleeping in any place they could find, and there were nowhere near enough toilets. It also seemed unlikely that they were going to be clearing the runway anytime soon. I said to Joe that I thought we should book flights from Heathrow instead - we would be able to find our way there somehow and the flights would be much more likely to leave. We booked the ten o'clock flight to Dublin, giving us plenty of time to get there. We offered to book Margaret on the same flight and take her with us, but she chose to stay in Gatwick. We said our goodbyes, and Joe and I headed off to find a way to Heathrow.

We went back to the train station first of all, but there was no point in taking a train back to London at one o'clock in the morning without having somewhere safe to stay in the city. It seemed better to wait until trains were running back out of London to Heathrow. The only alternative was to find a direct route to Heathrow from Gatwick. Even if we had to sleep in the Heathrow terminal, it would still be safer than sleeping among thousands of strangers. I went to the information desk to see if any other modes of transport were available, and I found a coach park underneath the building. We went down to investigate, and found that a bus was leaving for Heathrow in fifteen minutes. I felt so relieved, at this stage we had been on the go for nearly twenty four hours. The bus came a few minutes later, and we set off on our journey. Joe got some rest while I stayed awake to make sure we didn't miss our stop. The motorway was covered in snow and ice. We passed by abandoned cars and hundreds of trucks parked along the side of the road. There was a twenty mile tailback going in the opposite direction. Every time I closed my eyes I felt myself drift off to sleep, and I could even feel dreams starting. I was looking forward to getting to the airport in one piece.

After an hour or so, we pulled up to Heathrow. There was not a flake of snow to be seen. I didn't know if it was because it just hadn't snowed, or because the staff were so efficient in clearing it up. Either way, it was a good sign. Since we were so early for our flight, we had time to change our booking to an earlier flight home, for free. I was really pleased, I just wanted to get home. We got some food and headed down to the security area - it turned out that we were the first ones in the queue. It took effort to get through all the checks by now, my eyelids felt very heavy. As a precaution, I set an alarm clock in my phone just in case I fell asleep by accident. I was not going to miss the flight. We spent a few minutes wandering through the duty-free area before going to our gate. We were so early that the security doors around the departure gates were still locked. I remember a security guard opening them...

...and then I was being shaken awake by Joe, with a strange noise coming from my pocket - my alarm clock was going off. I didn't know what it was, or where I was. I had never felt such disorientation in my entire life. We were sitting on a chair near one of the departure gates, and I must have fallen asleep. I felt ill through my entire body. Joe got me to our gate. It turned out that our flight was ready to leave, but Dublin Airport was closed due to snow, and they weren't sure if it would re-open. It seemed like the journey was never going to end. I bought a bottle of water and sipped it to settle my stomach while we waited to hear what was going to happen, it seemed to help. We were eventually allowed to board the plane while we waited for the news from Dublin. After half an hour of sitting on tenterhooks, the pilot told us we would be leaving for Dublin after all. I could hardly believe it. The flight itself was pretty uneventful, clear blue skies everywhere. Normally when I land in Dublin, I feel a sense of disappointment that a trip is over. For once, I was thrilled to be back on Irish soil. We had to wait an hour for a bus home, and I didn't even care. It seemed like such a trivial thing after all the delays and hassle. Joe and I arrived home nineteen hours after trying to leave London for Gatwick that first time. I'm never flying Ryanair again.