Demain, moi et la missus voyagon au France pour un weekend – IF Air France and all else haven’t gone on a massive sympathy strike with the air traffic controllers, as some of the latter are striking this weekend. Even if our CityJet-ShittyJet-Merde-Air plane does leave, will it have anywhere to land a la France, or will we have to jump out SOE style?
I flew Air France to Beijing last time I went that way out, then on the return leg to Paris, and it’s an enjoyable flight, they run a good ship, but on landing and hoping to disembark there’s a problem getting the passenger walkway tube thing connected to the plane, and I have a connection in 45 minutes … which is missable, considering how big airports are, extra security, etc.
The captain talks over the tannoy and first and foremost reassures us the delay is NOT the fault of Air France, because deflecting blame is our primary interest as we stand clogging the aisles, brewing sweat, wanting to catch other planes to elsewhere, while he gives no time for how long we’ll be held up.
So I ask the security stewardess how far my connecting gate is from here.
‘Eh,’ she says tartly, ‘I have over 200 people on this plane making a connection, you are not the only one.’
‘Right. I’m not claiming I’m special, I’m wondering how long it’ll take to get from here to my gate.’
‘Show me your boarding pass!’ which I’d already offered her to see.’It is close. You will make it, stop panicking.’
‘I’m just asking, there’s no problem, thank you for your help.’
‘Eh! There is no problem!’
There is, we can’t get off, and you’re in some kind of mood. I hope you are, otherwise you’re like this all the time, eh?
Having just had a bag of wonderfully British chips I feel a rant brewing about the French and their weedy French Fries what we’ll to eat in Paris, fries buried under frogs-legs washed down with £20 pints of Stella, and how much we spend subsidising their economy so they can go on strike and wreck our holidays and how Brexit is actually a good thing, and we should retake Calais like Henry V or someone then knock it down to stop the Jungle lot coming over, in fact let’s blow up the tunnel, or some such essentially racially-motivated impotent statement of intent to commit violence/terrorism ‘cos I’m on some kind of carbo-jag.
PS: Apparentlement, Paris est ‘flooded’. Luckilyment, nous allons la avec Lufthansa:
In other news, I gave Ben-dog a chip, which being blind he couldn’t see, so Ringo took it instead.
Ringo took food from an old, blind dog.
I admonished Ringo and he gave me this pitiful look, like ‘o the injustice’. He’s like Theon, does appalling things then feels sorry for himself.
I’ve also found a wonderful track with which to herald my contender arrival into a boxing arena, ‘Trespassers will be eaten’ from Live And Let Die, recorded in 1973, perfect for my age and style, me coming in in my golden dressing gown, hood over my eyes, tassles flailing as I throw some hot shadow combinations, entourage of goons pushing back the screaming crowd, although they might not be heaving towards me, my squad are just pushing them back for effect, hence their screams.
Can’t upload the track, though.