Kingdom-bound October 6, 2006Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
Well, not for ages yet, really, and not for anything as life-changing as upping sticks permanently. No, just another UK errand beckons, and once more I must place myself in Easyjet’s (I know that’s not how to spell it, and that it starts with a small letter and there’s a capital in the middle somewhere – I think it’s EasYjet – but they can sod off if they think I’m going to remember that) incapable hands.
This travel lark’s an awful pain. Not that it isn’t always lovely to set foot on English soil, eat funny pies (had a nice ale and kidney – or something like that – one last time in a heavenly old ancient pub, but what is that bird’s nest disguised as pastry they put on top?) and chat with the natives. But as I get older and fussier and turn into all the women in my family who are ALL scared of EVERYTHING, travelling, and especially flying, has become an awful chore.
All the more so when this is with eAsyjEt.
Of course I’m awfully grateful for their cheap fares and the obscene over-familiarity of the staff, but they really need to give themselves more than 12 seconds between landing from one flight to get everyone off, have a rub around with the hoover, do a crammer of the eaSYjeT staff joke book and then get the next lot of punters on again. So flights are, inevitably, late. I am happily going to book myself on whatever cheapo flight to the kingdom I find, which will probably be landing at 4am at an utterly inconvenient airport.
As I sat, starving and skint, at Belfast Bobby Sands Airport – at least I THINK that’s what it was called – last month, waiting for a flight back to Gatwick before then heading on to Berlin, I screwed myself up ever more angrily in my chair when the inevitable DELAYED sprang up on the well-ogled screen. But do you know what the wankers at Belfast Airport have the cheek to write on the screen when your flight is delayed? Do you? “Relax & Shop.” In the imperative. Cunts. No I fucking well will not fucking relax and shop. I won’t relax because I’ll get ‘home’ at 3 in the morning, and either your or Gatwick’s cunting baggage-handling staff will by then have smashed my lap-top to bits, and I won’t shop because a) I’m skint and b) I’ll decide what to do myself, shall I? As it was, I shuffled around from waiting area to waiting area, hoping to get a bit of variety. And do you know who I saw? Only Gloria flipping Hunniford, stocking up on hairspray for the next millennium, no doubt. And then she got on my eASyjET flight. You’d think BBC Ulster would splash out a bit…
But another trip. Which will no doubt be peppered with talk of Christmas. I want to sleep till spring.