Travel

Picture the scene: we’re sitting in the departure lounge at Gatwick airport this afternoon waiting for the EasyJet flight back to Aldergrove. Over the tannoy the flight was announced, and before parents travelling with children or people with special needs, purchasers of EasyJet Speedy Boarding were called.

And a small handful of self-important looking business people shuffled to the desk.

I couldn’t help but glare at them. It’s not normally my nature, but how self-involved are these people, who need to sit their fat arses down on a plane before the rest of us? Or do they purchase this to qualify the fact that they’re flying low-cost?

Anyway, the other boarding groups were called and Mrs L and I discovered that we were two of the three people in boarding group “C”. So, we dutifully dandered down the stairs out to the….airport bus, where all the other passengers were waiting. Including those speedy-boarding twats who paid an extra fiver to sit on a bus.

Ha ha ha!

Needless to say, we all ended up arriving at the plane at the same time. Not only that, the speedy board suckers sort of ended up at the back because the later passengers like us were already at the doors. So we got on the plane first more or less!

What a stunning way for EasyJet to screw extra money out of customers who need to think they’re better than everyone else.

My Advice To Speedy Boarding Customers

Don’t be such an arsehole. Buying speedy boarding makes you look like a dick and sends out a clear message to your fellow passengers about you! You’re not that important that you need to sit on a plane ten minutes before everyone else.

Are you the same kind of person who stampedes out of your seat when the plane lands, only to stand bent double while they roll the stairs up to the plane?

Just remember: Levee’s watching you….

Tuesday, March 6th, 2007 // Observations

OK, so I went a bit quiet after my vasectomy a few weeks ago. Rumours of my demise were greatly exaggerated (thanks Aileen and Parnell) and I’m still standing.

It’s actually been a busy few weeks, so me and my sore plums just had to keep on moving with little time to rest. Most notably we were shipped to Amsterdam for a couple of days courtesy of the sister-in-law.

My reactions to Amsterdam are mixed. As a red-blooded guy, the legends of the Red Light District and the er…liberal attitudes appealed to me. On the flight across, we read about how the legalisation of the area had led to a safer place for punters and prostitutes alike.

I wondered how this would play out in real life, and was disappointed to discover a seedy dive with crowds of youths lingering around the area - not at all the enlightened sexual mecca I’d been imagining! Think Gresham Street in Belfast with a few sex shows thrown in for good measure.

Now, believe it or not, I didn’t understand the reason behind the name “Red Light Area” until last week. If you’re a greenhorn like me, read on:

Basically, as you walk through the area, you’ll see buildings with red neon lights in the windows. And in each window, provocatively dressed babes try and tempt you in for a bit of paid-for nookie. Now, in fairness to them, (most) were very good looking girls, not the clapped-out hags you might expect to see Wayne Rooney ‘knocking’ around with.

Mrs L was surprised too, and indulged a spot of me eyeing up hookers for about five minutes. It’s one thing looking at semi-nude babes in a magazine, but hard to ogle when they’re staring right back at you.

Anyway, stray away from the red light bits and Amsterdam’s quite a nice place. Walking down the main thoroughfares with all their gift shops reminded me of O’Connell Street, but with dope and sex motifs instead of shamrocks and leprechauns! Restaurants were of generally good quality and we ate well for reasonable prices.

So there you go, nothing sinister happened, thanks for your concern! I’ll try and dig out some of the photos we managed to take later on.

Monday, December 4th, 2006 // Observations