I’ve found over the years¹ that I’m bothered more by the eastbound leg of long flights. I suppose the logic is that if you go to bed considerably later than usual, you’ll certainly sleep; if you try to go to bed earlier then odds are you’re just wasting effort.

But I’d been smart this time round. I’d looked at the timings, I’d looked at my leave days, I’d looked at what I thought I could do. I didn’t make any special effort to sleep during the flight to be sure that I’d conk out at a time of my choosing on the Sunday night after I got back. And I then made an appointment for Monday morning which I could miss if I really needed to, but really wouldn’t want to.

The leave days covered what I planned for.
The timings worked out.
The non-sleeping on the flight worked.
The conking out at a reasonable GMT time worked like a charm.
The getting up early for my appointment worked.

Unfortunately, the aforementioned gods decided then to throw a spanner into the works, in the form of mild rain and noticeable winds. Meaning that the use of a helicopter was ruled out, and my carefully laid plan was scuppered.

So I, stupidly, went back to bed. And further woke up at a perfectly respectable 7.30am. In Canadian Mountain Time. Or about 2.30pm over here.

Bollocks.

Following on from that, I had roughly fuck all sleep last night, and my body thinks that I should be sleeping right now, expecting to get out of bed in an hour or two.

Double Bollocks. Je n’aime pas le jetlag.

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¹ – Said like I’m a much seasoned traveller. And not just someone with a mere three transatlantic trips under their belt.