Showing posts with label flying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flying. Show all posts

Saturday, 9 June 2012

Watch out - liquids about!


What I’d like to know is; what is so very dangerous about my shower gel? The airport liquid restrictions have been in place for some time now, so you’d think I’d be used to them, but this ginger needs a lot of help to look semi-normal, so they really are a right royal pain in the @rse. It’s grand when the better half is there to take my overflow in his little plastic baggy (the purveyors of those little baggies must LOVE the guys who hit upon the liquid bomb idea by the way – shares are up!) but when I'm on my own it leads to either checking a bag or some harsh decisions about which product de toilette is least essential (yes, yes, I know – first world problems…)
I’m all for taking measures to ensure the plane I’m on is not blown to smithereens, but I am deeply suspicious about this baggy activity. So we all put our tiny bottles of liquid in a little bag – to what end exactly? Just the other day I was witness to a fine example of the amazing work done by our fearless airport security guards. A young man had dutifully placed his bottle of aftershave in a tray next to his bag and his belt and off it went into the x-ray machine. At the other side the scanner of the scanner gave said youth a withering over-the-bifocals look (striking fear into his heart with it no doubt) and pointedly placed the offending bottle into a plastic baggy before handing it back. Thank god - who knows the damage that aftershave could have done if not safely ensconced in a see-through cocoon.
It’s pretty obvious some of the security measures are made up to entertain bored guards. Why else would they insist on them at some airports and ignore them at others? Some of them make you take your shoes off, some only make you take certain types of shoe off, and some couldn’t give a shiny shite about your shoes. Maybe they take an educated guess as to whether or not you’ll have smelly feet?
To be fair it must be mind-numbing to the point of exasperation to repeat the same phrases over and over, and receive the same incredulous looks when you tell people that they can't take their tweezers on a plane (for fear you would forcefully over-pluck the stewardesses eyebrows?) I wouldn’t be surprised if they start making us do the hokey-cokey in aid of national security.
I do have to give credit to the security staff who remain cheery while doling out ridiculous requests to the passengers who can only be described (politely) as ‘a few sandwiches short of a picnic’ (less polite version: ‘feckin’ eejits’). The staff at Schiphol, for instance, deserve medals for reacting with nothing more than a wry smile when the chavs claim their human rights are being violated when they take their joints away.
It is other passengers that tend to add insult to injury when you’re faced with the joys of airport security. Particularly the ones who wait until they’re at the belt of the x-ray machine to unpack and repack their suitcase to remove sun-cream, nail scissors and machetes, despite being pre-warned by the weird/scary/patronising hologram people (money well spent there airport authorities!) 
The self-same fools also have a habit of hogging the other side of the scanner until their bag to comes out, somehow managing to take up six feet of space with one jittery/hovery movement, until a grumpy businessman elbows them out of the way that is. The suits hold no truck with dilly-dallying and it makes for excellent people watching, which goes some way to making up for a lack of moisture in my travelling life.
Nice view - shame about the dehydration

Friday, 27 April 2012

Come fly with me

I do love the views...
As I prepare to board the big orange bus of the skies later today (brace yourself Amsterdam) I’m reminded of the fellow fliers I’ve known and loved / held in contempt / been utterly disgusted by. I’ve done a fair few air miles (my carbon footprint could probably stomp out a small country) so I’ve had the dubious pleasure of sharing an airplane with all manner of specimen.
But it doesn’t take a frequent flier to predict that a budget airline flight to Amsterdam on a Friday night will be approximately 68% full of drunken lairy stag/hen types. What I enjoy, though, is seeing the same groups on the return flight – a green, shaky, shell of their former selves. Because I am so very sensible when it comes to booze you see…*ahem*
Speaking of drink, I do love the opportunity a flight gives you to be a bad influence on complete strangers. There have been several occasions when my elbow rest buddy has declined a drink with a smug holier-than-thou my-body’s-a-temple expression, which is quickly wiped off their face when the refreshing grapey beverage I’ve ordered is passed under their nose. Before you can say ‘cirrhosis’ they’re all ‘actually could I have a wine too…’
Predictably, children can be a bloomin’ nightmare – the worst being when they hunt in packs. Beware the school trip on a plane! Excitement and massive bags of haribo are an explosive combination, and particularly annoying when you’re trying to catch up zzzs on the stupid o’clock flight.
One of the minor 'joys' of low-end airlines (have to eek it out where I can…) is choosing my own seat. Honing my observation skills has helped avoid all manner of seating disasters. I have, on occasion, felt sorry for ladies with babies for this reason though, as passenger after passenger swerves to avoid their row when the mini person is spotted, making them feel like such a pariah that they give you a pre-emptory apologetic look if you’re the one stuck with the infant-adjacent seat. These can actually be fun if you’re lucky enough to get the cute smiley variety, but sadly there are no guarantees they won’t be (or turn into) the screechy tantrum types.
Screaming babies have nothing, however, on the guy who spent an entire flight to Bristol making a guttural burp/hacking sound so loud I could hear it over the engines from two rows back <retch>. It took me a while to figure where the noise was coming from (and, indeed, what it was) but then I noticed the poor misfortune sitting in the same row as him hanging out into the aisle to get as far away from him as possible. Ewwww.
And so I say a little prayer to Stelios, the god of cheap air travel, that I avoid a pissed / loud / smelly neighbour on this upcoming flight. In return, I shall make a small offering at his altar in the form of in-flight bar profits.