It was an interesting week. I flew Jet2 to Pais from Leeds on Tuesday, knowing that I was playing on Wednesday at 2.30pm. This was a little late to be travelling to a tournament, but I wanted to make the most of the time at home – especially to nurse the recent injury.

Besides, it's only Paris, which nowadays is comparable to getting on a train to Manchester: C'est facile, non?

Alas, I arrived at Charles De Gaulle airport and waited patiently at the baggage carousel – which I find incredibly amusing at times. As part of my job, I spend hours people watching at baggage carousels.

Passengers surround the carousel and stand inches away from it, waiting for their bags, as if getting as close as possible will help bring their luggage out more quickly, and then nearly jumping out of their skin as it begins to rotate.

They glare intently at the flaps, willing something to appear, and I can't help but think that – as comedian Peter Kay so hilariously observed – that there will be a baggage handler on the other side standing, with all the luggage, taking his cigarette break!

In northern English airports, there is always a guy just back from his holidays dressed in three-quarter length shorts and an England football top standing right next to the opening of the carousel cursing, usually in a Bradford accent, if the bags haven't arrived.

Of course, I am above all this. Being knowledgable, and well travelled, I stand yards back sniggering cynically. Unfortunately, however, my bag failed to show up in Paris!

I couldn't believe they could get this wrong. I travel the world over, making tough connections all the time, and yet I get caught out on an hour's flight to Paris – knowing I was playing in a matter of hours!

The baggage department proceeded to tell me that I would have to come back to the airport to retrieve the bag, whenever it arrived. The situation was clearly not improving and Jet2, it seems, are clever with their small print.

I managed to survive for a couple of days with bought clothes and I collected the bag the night before the semis. I was lucky as I travelled in squash shoes, as I usually do, and a good job it was too because there are very few people that you can borrow a size 13 squash shoe from!

The tournament went well, and the ankle problem held up.
Myself and my England and Yorkshire compatriot Nick Matthew reached the semi-finals. The venue was excellent and the crowds big – around 800 attended on semis night – and I'm not afraid to say that they were entertained.

Squash is a mesmerising spectacle live; it is now important that more people recognize this.