I’ve experienced long and short haul delays. I’ve been grounded when aircraft have gone techie. I’ve been subjected to impossible fellow travellers and have taken it all in my stride. It’s just part and parcel of the boundless and joyous
experience of travelling, broadening both your mind and your horizons.
But… the older you get, the less tolerant you become.
Yesterday, our short haul to Faro was subjected to delays, on both the Jersey-Gatwick, Gatwick-Faro legs. As the day progressed it bought out the grumpy old woman in me.
GOW Incident 1
For the very first time in my travelling life, I ditched my rucksack, in favour of my new super sleek ultra lightweight wheelie cabin bag. As a certain airline frown upon 2 pieces of hand luggage, I decided against taking a girlie handbag, for the necessities… passport, tickets, etc., just in case they kicked up a fuss. But I soon discovered that travelling with a cabin bag alone is fraught with problems.
A circumferential zip which needs undoing every time you need something and everything falls out when you open it. No handy little, easily accessible external zip pockets With this slimline beauty. So by the time I got into the Jersey departure lounge, I was pining for my rucksack.
14th June 2019, turned out to be the day of the pre-nuptial hen parties, as well as cross-aisle marital rows. The latter reaching fever pitch as threats of heading for the divorce courts straight after collecting their bags, were bandied about.
GOW Incident 2
Why do people feel the need to air their dirty laundry in public? Raised voices and looking to fellow passengers for their moral support, on both sides, as they regurgitated their entire foul-mouthed vocabulary. Sorry, but I really don’t want to hear about your sex life, or lack of it and, neither does anybody else.
GOW Incident 3
Several hours later and flying back over Jersey en route to Faro, there are two brides to be on board and their entourage of hens.
Choruses of How Long Will I Love You and I’m Y, y, y, Yours flood the cabin. Both groups monopolise the drinks trolley for what seemed like hundreds of aeronautical miles. Long and far enough for a wave of panic to wash over me. Will there be any Sauvignon Blanc left by the time the trolly trundles its way to me?
Two hours later, I kick off my shoes.
I pad barefoot into the kitchen, pour myself a large glass of chilled to perfection vino branco and enjoy it on the balcony. It’s 11.30pm and I breathe in the heady scent of the umbrella pines.
HOW = Happy Old Woman
This post first appeared on TESSA BARRIE'S LOST BLOGS – Life's Too Short To Be Niche, please read the originial post: here