The Hits Keep Comin’
Ryan Air is in the business of making money. In fact, more so now than ever before has it been so obviously apparent. Not only do you have to jump through hoops to make a simple online booking, but navigate those hoops incorrectly and you could find yourself with some brand-spanking-new Samsonite luggage. I found to my dismay that another hoop has been added to their number with the 'useful' function of being able to pre-book your seat number - for another £10 a sector. The utter bedlam this causes whilst trying to take your seat is another matter that I am just too cranky to write about...
What passengers fail to realise is that after you've added your luggage, your golf club, your guitar, your poster carrier, added priority or seat number, insurance (the list goes on...) you still end up getting on a bloody Ryan Air flight! Stop handing over the money and they'll stop thinking of more ways to get it out of you..!
Low cost budget airline? Not any more. On my particular route I worked out that I could get the train to Arlanda, get on a BA flight to Heathrow and then get the Tube home for practically the same price as a return flight on Ryan Air. And I'm not including luggage and extras that are built into a BA flight, either. Obviously, this depends on the date and route chosen - but unfortunately for me, it's a matter of ease and comfort(!?!) over cost. Spending a day travelling rather than a couple of hours means less back/neck pain, so I'm pretty much stuck with Ryan Air out of Vasteras. Which is a shame because sometimes I'd like to get on a plane and have a coffee served to me with a smile instead of having to take out a mortgage for one on a Ryan Air flight, only to have it be instant coffee in a paper cup. I mentioned comfort. I found that it didn't matter when I boarded the plane, I was usually lucky enough to get the exit seats in the centre of the aircraft. This meant that my back didn't go into spasm and I was relatively comfortable for the short flight. Now, because of the seat number debacle, they stick a photocopied note on the seat stating 'RESERVED', which I found out today to be complete bollocks. After one of the cabin crew realised that the exit seats needed to be used (the plane was at capacity), she quickly removed the reserved notes and seated the passengers that got on the plane last. Not me, I was told I couldn't sit in a reserved place unless I had actually reserved it... I was a little pissed off with this after the twelve late arrivals were seated in extra legroom - without reserving the seats. It also meant that the shit-kicking seven year old in the seat behind me played penalty shoot-out with my chair back for two and a half hours. This last thing isn't Ryan Air's fault, of course, but I'm bitter and today I'm putting it squarely in their lap...
I used to love this way of travelling from Vasteras. There were two flights a day, seven days a week. Now there are only five flights a week for about a 1200% increase in fare. I remember a few years back, I got a return flight to London for 2p..! Those deals are long gone and Ryan Air obviously needs to remain competitive in a market that is dying a slow and painful death, but I think that if the company doesn't do something about quality of service instead of speed (that bloody fanfare on arrival has got to be the single most annoying thing, ever), then it's going to go the way of other budget airlines. Although I get the feeling that it's circling the bowl already...
Want
Watching Cincinnati Reds @ SF Giants ... want holiday in SF again, that city rocks...
Old Dogs, New Tricks
I arrive at Stansted to find my Mum in a wheelchair and my Dad so pale that he's almost translucent...
My visits back home have become somewhat disheartening, but I suppose it was inevitable that the time would come that my parents would start to get old... the weird thing is, I never thought they would get to the 'old' stage - they are - whilst not exactly upwardly mobile - are young in both heart and mind. Even up until they both retired I assumed they both had at least another thirty years or so in them... I still hold a lot of hope that this is the case, but just a look now at how they don't look after themselves makes me depressed beyond all comprehension. Since leaving work my Dad has doubled in size and my Mum has gotten so large that she can hardly move for putting out a knee... My constant diatribes don't seem to have any effect at all and it's gotten to the stage now where I can only watch in despair as they deteriorate and do it knowingly... Old Dogs and New Tricks...
So as I was saying, Stansted... Dad feels a bit squiffy so I offer to take the helm and drive back home whilst he takes it easy in the back with the dog. Mum sits up front with me and we natter for the 40 minute drive.
Dad stays pale until late on in the evening, complaining on and off about indigestion but takes the dog out for a walk anyway - which he tells me when he gets back was a 'power walk' that he felt he needed - he didn't...
Just after lights out, he comes into my room to tell me about a Japanese man that has recreated a wax work of himself in the minutest detail and whilst I listen to him I can't help but be shaken with the sight of him. He's so pale that his eyes seem to pop out at me and I'm convinced that he's seriously ill but he seems in good spirits and goes back to bed.
At just gone midnight my Mum calls me into their room where I witness my Dad sitting on the edge of the bed shaking so violently that I'm convinced he's having convulsions. He stammers to me that he's so cold that he just can't handle it - I call the paramedics instantly and they arrive within about 3 minutes.
Once they've attached various apparatus to him to measure his heart rate, and tried with pretty much no success to shut him up (Dad suffers from verbal diarrhoea at the best of times, tonight it's ten times worse) they decide to get him to A&E as soon as possible.
I ride along with him in the ambulance, all the time the paramedic gently calms him down by talking about her dog, stopping occasionally to tell him to shut up so she can get a proper reading from the ECG. Before I can say "Don't take him to Northwick Park" we arrive at Barnet Generals' A&E...
...Where we sit and wait, Dad in a busted hospital bed with no pillow and a blanket with more holes in it than one of his socks...
After finally getting a Doctor to see him, he's pumped full of liquids and is given various meds to bring down his temperature - all the time he is chatting.
At about 5 am, after being seen by about the 4th Doctor he is transported to a monitoring ward where they will decide what further treatment is required - but we still have no real idea what the cause of the problem is. The guess is that he's fighting off a massive infection, although the area where this infection is could be either the chest or the gallbladder - a short stay in a ward should help the Doctor's discover how to treat this ailment ... and I am finally on my way home at 7 a.m. after saying goodbye to my still chatting Dad ...
Sidestep the Backpack
With a few days left before I head off to London for the Easter festivities and (more importantly) the Royal Wedding, I find myself acting as personal shopper to a dislocated Swede that happens to work in Binna's building.
I'm tasked with purchasing trinkets of Swedish fare that this particular ex-pat finds to be a bit unfulfilling but as I am not one to judge, I proceed to ICA and round up the following:
- 1 x refill pack O'boy (powdered chocolate milkshake)
- 2 x box (3 packets) powdered Béarnaise sauce mix
- 2 x box (3 packets) powdered Café de Paris sauce mix
- 1 x box (3 packets) powdered Chanterelle sauce mix
This may seem unambiguous to all, however, packing this amount of powder into ones hand luggage can not only be nerve racking at security but it actually weighs quite a bit! This meant that the clothing I intended bringing with me had to be put aside as the cabin allowance of 10 kilos was just over with the shopping, my laptop and my EOS with its spare lens. It also meant that I had to change my bag from my usual backpack to a light weight holdall so that not only could I fit all the shopping in, but so that I would be able to get the stuff I actually wanted with me in the bag too...
I can only hope that on the day that the weather Gods and Security at the airport lean in my favour....
From A to B, via Hell…
One of the things I love about air travel is when it's all over. Today was a brilliant example of this fact ...
After about three hours sleep, I woke up to the sound of an almighty row going on outside between two magpies, this was taking place on my balcony about two feet from my open window and I honestly had Hitchcockian visions ploughing through my brain whilst I was yanked from slumber. After this traumatic awakening, there was absolutely no hope of me getting back to sleep so I got up and staggered zombie-like to the computer, via the lav and the kettle, to see if there was anything going on in the world that I thought was worth being awake for...
That took all of two minutes and then it was all about the prep for my journey to the UK. Which basically means:
- Put laptop in bag
- Put passport in bag
- close bag
On Thursday I ran out of bread, milk, eggs and other food stuffs, so I had been living on left-over junk foods from my recent visits from James and Craig, and then Simon, Sam and Nile. Yesterday my diet consisted of a family bag of sour cream and chive crisps and a 1.5 litre bottle of coke ... Today I had powdered milk on All Bran and was planning on doing the same for lunch - that was until I tasted what powered milk on All Bran was like... So I left the apartment a little earlier than planned, about midday, and stopped off in town a whole bus stop early so that I could frequent the glory that is The Golden Arches, wherein I ordered a cheeseburger, fries and a coffee... and this is when something weird got in my head and just wouldn't quit... I was concentrating on the chewing you see, trying to remember if it was 10, 20 or 100 chews you are supposed to make before swallowing - you know, to enable digestion, and the more I thought about it, the more I realised just how utterly disgusting mastication is. I managed half of my cheeseburger and a few fries before I made myself feel extremely sick and had to bin it. The coffee was dire, as it always is from McDonalds, but as a means to wash down that 'up-chuck' ball that was lodged below my throat but above my stomach, it did just fine.
I arrived at the Central Station to meet the Shuttle Taxi I had pre-ordered. At the allotted place a crowd of about ten people stood, all with luggage and I new, I just new that out of all of them, there was probably one or two others that had pre-ordered their ride.
Luckily the taxi driver called out my name from his list first, so I got my bag into the back and made my way to the door, by the time I got there, five people had pushed past me and were clambering into the vehicle. Gladly it was a seven seater and even though the three people left at the side of the road had in fact pre-ordered and the ones in the Taxi hadn't, getting them out was going to be a pointless task - so our driver didn't bother. Instead he called up the Taxi HQ and got another one to come for them. This left me feeling bad for them but angry at the arseholes that just expect stuff and don't apologise for taking what's not theirs.
At our lovely little airport, I was first in the queue and first through security but on three hours sleep, very little food and a taxi ride with a group of Butt Munchers - I was a little bit... tetchy, so I thought I'd treat myself to a beer. Behind the bar in the departure lounge there's a great big Sol Beer poster and whatever people say about it, I don't care - I like it. It's light and refreshing and I fancied one.
"A bottle of Sol, please", I said to the woman behind the bar.
"A what?" she replied with a quizzical look. So I repeated my request only to be told that they didn't stock Sol beer. I was about to launch into a, "Why the fuck not tirade," (actually, I wasn't and I never would - it's not in my nature - but it sounds good written down), but changed my mind and ordered a Heineken instead.
FIVE POUNDS FOR A BOOTLE OF LAGER!!!!
I shall not be doing that again for a while...
The crowds of people that eventually turned up in the lounge were staggering and to this day I am still confused as to why, when the airport did their refit, they made the lounge smaller. It wasn't big enough to cope with a plane full of passengers before without the overflow of the upper level, now you have a 737=800 passenger load in a space that can seat about a third of that. It's Bloody Ridiculous.
Anyway, I put my iPhone on and listened to some Thee Michelle Gun Elephant until it was time to board, and during this time I began the process of 'psyching myself up' for the trial that is staying in a queue that doesn't really exist (people in Sweden just do not know how to queue), and managing to get on the plane without causing myself (or others) injury.
I can never figure out why the wrong people seem to buy the priority boarding ticket for this flight. You'd think that a woman with a twin pram, two babies, baby luggage and no one to assist would at least have the mental capacity to realise that paying four quid extra for a ticket would be a bloody good idea, but - no - leave it to the Travel-savvy Herbert in a group of five to get the ticket and then proceed to hold off the other four seats with various bags and items of apparel until his travel companions arrive on board.
I don't purchase I priority ticket usually and didn't today but I always seem to end up getting my preferred exit seat where my body's natural inclination to slouch is obliged by the extra leg room. The aforementioned Herbert was in the row behind me and when the plane was fully boarded, yep, you guessed it, the woman arrived with the two babies. And not only that, she had another young child in tow too. There of course was not a row of empty seats available for her to be able to sit with her children, and so an announcement was made over the aircraft PA for some kind individuals to give up their seats ... no one budged, offered or even looked concerned, and if I'm honest, my first reaction was "Tough tits cookie, shoulda paid the extra four quid!" Now before you go off half-cocked and get all up in my face about this, I couldn't have offered my seat anyway, no one under the age of 18 is permitted to sit in the exit seat row - so there. The row behind however.... So yeah, that Herbert was actually asked by the Flight Attendant to give up his (and his companions) seat(s) - and I was again thinking "WTF! If I pay four quid to get on the plane and get my arse in a seat of my own choosing - why the hell should I give it up for a doughnut that hasn't got the sprinkles to think of it in the first place!" But he (and his companions) moved to different seating... you can see what's coming, right?
This meant that my two hour flight now consisted a three, maybe four year old kicking the shit out of the back of my chair when the tray table attached to it wasn't being used as a drum kit by two infants. And even my ear buds didn't drown out the piercing screech of baby agony as tiny ears went pop with the change in cabin pressure... If that bar was near I would've bought another five quid lager...
Pimpin’
I was just sifting through Last.fm's recommendations for live music and came across SOIL and 'PIMP' SESSIONS playing at the Jazz Cafe in Camden on the 22nd. Too smoov to pass up...
Västward Bound
A heart stopping moment as I checked the Ryan Air website today. At 10.30 it stated that the runway at Stansted was closed due to snow. This quickly changed after 10 minutes or so and normal service was quickly resumed.
My last day in Blighty always seems to be spattered with drama and hassle, all of it quite unnecessary as I've now Sussex how to get to the airport with the minimum of stress for everyone by setting a good hour advance on a suggested time of departure. What this does is give lots of time at the airport to grab some food, have a mooch and get through security with plenty of time to walk to the gate. But there is always something that comes up to drop the preverbial spanner into the works. Today it wasn't just the snow... Lack of heat in Dad's MPV meant that we has to pile into Mum's
Still Snowing
The snow has been pretty persistent and we've had a good 40cm of snow. This compared to the metre or so and -20 degree temperatures in Sweden is laughable - but it ha taken it's toll on pretty much everything here. Stansted has reopened but flights are either cancelled or severley delayed.
On the bright side, it does look pretty...
Snowed in?
Well today has seen the most snowfall in the UK for over 15 years. And that's as I write this - by the morning there will probably be a lot more snow and news of utter mayhem blighting the country. And whilst all this makes me snigger at how positively pathetic it all is, I'm also a little bit more than concerned that my flight this coming Thursday might be cancelled. I have just seen that flights into Luton are being diverted to France... WTF! Of all places to be diverted to, I'm sure that somewhere within the British Isles would have been more favourable!
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