Montreal, Canada

Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men... so easily blown awry by matters out of our hands. It's been a ridiculously busy day, pumping out press releases, dealing with pop stars and chatting with journalists, but like a whirlwind I get it all done and fly from the office almost on time to jump on the Heathrow Express and check in at Terminal 5 for my flight to Montreal, bang on time at 4pm.

Despite a workload that could dwarf the Himalayas I've remained true to my clockwatching obsessiveness and, meeting my travelling companion and old chum Paul Brannigan with time to spare, we serenely have an hour to catch up over a drink before boarding the plane.

So far, so good. We're all aboard ahead of schedule, buckled up and ready to go. But this great British summer throws the first spanner in the works and we're soon told we'll be delayed for 90 minutes due to "ground conditions". Seems like the runways are more like rivers. Oh well, better safe than sorry.

I plough through emails and then settle back to read the paper, wishing I'd not shared my Kitkat with Paul as I'm now a bit peckish; two fingers are never enough! But after an hour comes another announcement.

"Usually being a pilot for British Airways is the best job in the world. Today sadly it's not. I'm afraid I have to share with you the news that three of your fellow passengers have just informed us that they do not wish to fly any longer. This means that we have to remove their bags from the hold which will take at least 30 minutes. Unfortunately our take off slot is in just four minutes time but we will now not be able to depart. We're doing everything we can to get a new slot so we don't get put to the back of the queue but we can't do that until the bags have been unloaded. I'm so very sorry for this new delay to your journey."

Mutiny is in the air! Who are these idiotic muppets who've just changed their minds?! How dare they screw over an entire planeload because they've suddenly remembered they've left the oven on?!?!. By now we should be 30,000 feet above the Atlantic. I'd cheerfully push them out without a bloody parachute if I could.

The pilot, bless him, sounds as annoyed as the rest of us, but in true BA fashion keeps his cut-glass accent polite and friendly, whilst obviously making a mental note to bar these arseholes from ever setting foot on one of his planes again.

Realising that we could now be landing close to 11pm and not even at our hotel until the early hours I dig out the Hilton Montreal's number and phone across the Atlantic to advise them of our delayed arrival and ensure they don't put us down as no-shows and give our rooms away.

"I presume you have 24 hour room service," I also enquire. "Mais non!" exclaims the lady on the front desk, with a modicum of embarrassment. "Our restaurant closes at midnight, and I am tres, tres sorry, but we do not serve in the room after that." Hmmmm. We're going to be starving.

She seems to hear my already rumbling stomach down the phone line and reassures me there are local eateries that will serve in nearby streets. "But zey will not be fine-dining," she shamefully whispers. By this I'm thinking she means we'll be hammering on the windows of the local Burger King. Considering I was only expecting an in-room BLT, I'm sure we can cope. It'll be like being back in Shanghai!!

Finally, three hours after we board we take to the skies. We've only been offered a glass of water and a hot towel in all this time so as soon as the drinks trolley arrives I grab a pack of pretzels and order both a Bloody Mary and a glass of Shiraz.

It's nearly 10pm before they serve dinner, which according to the in-flight menu comprises a Minted Tabbouleh Salad, Seared Fillet of Charolais Beef with gnocchi and creamed broad beans, and a Passionfruit Posset. Amazing how they can dress up a tray of reheated convenience with fancy language but hey, that's what PRs have been doing for years so I'm hardly one to complain. And considering how hungry I am, I'd eat pretty much anything. And whaddya know, it's surprisingly good.

Sated and crisis abated it's time to settle back and watch the movies. I opt for 'The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel' and sink into memories of India and its glorious, delirious world of humour, colour and passion. By the time it ends I'm sleepy enough to snooze for two hours; that cramped, restless sleep that only planes induce.

We're over Newfoundland before I remove my eyemask and earplugs, waking to a chicken salad sandwich and cup of tea, with just over an hour to go. We seem to have made up a bit of time and are on the ground just before 10pm Montreal time, 3am UK.

There's the usual wait to disembark and then a brief queue at immigration before we find ourselves hanging round the baggage hall watching everyone's bag but ours appear. Mine eventually does but while we nervously scan for Paul's something rather surreal happens.

A man approaches, carrying a baby, and starts speaking French rapidly to me while proffering his child. "Parlez vous Anglais?" I ask. "Oui, oui. Will you hold mon bebe?" Errrrr. And before I can answer he thrusts his daughter into my arms to mine and Paul's astonishment.

Within seconds we understand. Behind him his wife is carrying another daughter and, now relieved of his child, he can pull their bags from the carousel and construct their carry cots, ready to receive his precious cargo back from me.

The girl stares up in fascination at this stranger to whom she's been charged, gurgling and sweet, until the waft of her nappy assails my nostrils. Paul, a father of two, is still busy scanning for his luggage and so I stand, an unnatural parent, with a merrily-pooing infant in my arms until, with profuse thanks, the man rescues both her and me from this unexpected eventuality. "Au revoir," they cry and disappear.

Out to the cabs we go, finally arriving at the Hilton at 11.30pm. We decide against food, opting for a nightcap at the bar and retiring to our rooms at half past midnight; just over 22 hours since I got out of bed. Too tired to unpack I hit the sack. Tomorrow is when the fun will start...