So here we are at Heathrow. The last two weeks of frantic final preparations and last minute jobs behind us. We felt relatively organised and in control an hour ago, when we first arrived.
Except R is on a different flight from me, and in a different terminal. This was always the plan. He had a chunk of air miles to use within the Star Alliance network and could save a bundle by therefore flying with South African. And my best available deal without air miles was to fly Emirates.
So while I'm now safely through check in (4 kilos over on a 35 kilo allowance - my parents' bathroom scales are obviously on the 'flattery' setting), have trudged through security and am safely ensconced in T3 departures, R is still in T2, in a long and very stationary queue for his first Star Alliance flight - a connection to Frankfurt with Lufthansa.
He was always worried he'd be pushing it with an hour between planes in Frankfurt. Now he's worried that he may not even make it on to the Frankfurt flight. His queue has moved 100 yards in the last hour, and they've just cancelled the flight before his. Fights are breaking out and nobody is giving anybody any information.
After calling Lufthansa who confirm that the 1905 is 'as normal' for the moment, I am now online trying to find out any more I can. But everything suggested all is on time and scheduled, and noone has any advice for someone stuck in a queue with no way of abandoning a trolley full of bags.
Somehow, I think it will need a miracle if he manages to join me in Kampala tomorrow night. I suspect he'll limp in the following day, suitably grumpy after 48 hours of travelling hell.
Torn between pity and a smug relief I remind myself there is still plenty of time for Mr Cock Up to wreak havoc with my own itinerary. Here's to hoping at least one of us gets there on schedule.