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huggeroftreesI'm Spartacus! Ho yus. Despite breath-stealing, appendage solidifying, FREEZING temperatures I have achieved shopping. I have bought ALL THE THINGS. Including a non-existent Christmas cake.
"M&S don't have them" sayeth the Maternal Unit. "Nowhere has them" sayeth she.
Well HA! Cos I found one. And where did I find it? In M&S. So ner! :D
I was also chatted up by a deliciously tall and delightfully cheeky gentleman who was attempting to sell me things. Reader, look askance at me as you will, I bought them. He Was CHEEEKY!!! :D
So, shall we have a ramble about travel?
*strums lute*
Yea and verily. (It has to be done in bardic form, I was in Ireland after all)
Gather round my beloved 'earers and hear me speak. Let me a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood...
(It froze mine, but that might just have been the local air temperature)
Was in the year of 2010
Winter, almost Christmas, when
Our brave explorer began her mighty quest.
Her aim, to travel overseas
By any means that it might please
the gods to so allow her to escape
At first she thought: "I'll get a train!"
And thus be spared from any pain
especially connected to the Gorey bypass which has been too oft affected by snow and packed ice in recent weeks.
The train it came and all was well
good seats - a view, until night fell
Was this an omen? Would all go smoothly?
Or was this a brief peace before the final doozy?
All things end and soon enough
Connelly station appeared, through the dusk.
Where next to go? What choice to take?
Ferry? Coach? Or tempt her fate?
The airport, the airport, the airport...
It called to her across the miles (and toll road)
"Come to me" the sirens wailed,
"I'm open, I'm flying, I'm the quickest way home"
Brave to the last, our heroine took her courage in both hands and boarded the coach to the airport.
~ ~ Instrumental interval ~ ~ (you might want to pause here and refresh your Guinness glass - nothing will now happen for a LOOOOOOOOOOOONG time)
Lo, I did attempt to check in. And also verily. But despite the heaviness of my backpack the lady behind the counter couldn't do anything for me for half an hour. We shall skip over the usual hobbling through security with hiking boots in one hand while the other holds up trousers that threaten to descend in a flurry of embarrassment with every step.
Thus did I arrive at the gate. There was a seat. I sat in it. I finished my book (Stormbreaker, about my level :D). The plane was a wee bit delayed. I watched as much of an episode of Band of Brothers as my battery would allow. The plane was by now delayed by almost an hour.
But it wasn't cancelled. Which looking at the state of the departures board was a rare and good thing.
So there I was. Bored, cross-eyed, and still an hour and a half off even an optimistic hope of departure. I began to wander the halls.
Now, to be fair to them, the Ryanair bit of Dublin airport is really rather large. Long enough for three travelators. But it's not long enough to entertain a bored Treehugger for more than three oscillations of pacing.
Up one end there was a Santa Claus display. I looked at it.
There were windows out onto the tarmac. I looked out of them.
At the other end there was a juice stand that had a sign saying "back in 10 mins". I looked at it.
There was still an hour to wait.
After considering it rationally for a good while I walked in the wrong direction on the travelator. I then walked the entire length of the departure hall in the wrong direction on the travelators.
No-one noticed.
I then spent about 10 mins walking up the travelator, riding down and walking back up again. Surprisingly even rebellion against the system can get boring. In the end I dismounted.
There was still half an hour to wait.
Some lads waiting for the Manchester plane were playing keepy-uppy, but they looked at me funny when I wandered past for the 3rd time so I went back to my seat and began on the second book.
Eventually there was a cough from the speakers and great news was given unto us. There was a plane. A plane for us. It was however at a different gate. Luckily, after my wanderings I knew EXACTLY where all the gates were. The entire congregation up'ed and moved. There was queueing. I didn't queue. I don't queue. I sit down somewhere nearby and wait for the rush to die down. It's not like ANY of the seats on the plane are worth sitting on anyway.
The voice from above requested that people stopped queueing for just five minutes because this gate was for Stanstead and if anyone got through it they'd be going to soft southern land and they didn't want that did they? The congregation shivered as one and took a large step back.
Then came the moment. The moment we had all been waiting for. Some of us more than others. We were BOARDING! In fact I'd got involved in my book that they were doing the "Excuse me! hurry up please if you want to catch this one" and I had to scrabble somewhat.
A plane. A seat. What could possibly go wrong?
Well yes.
So after the nice pilot had come on the talky talky thing in his lovely Yorkshire accent and explained that there was a strange thingie on the paperwork and lo we would have to wait a tick while they re-prepared the plane he and the crew had flown over in to fly us home, they hooked us up to the pushy-truck thing and wheeled us round to opposite the new plane. Then it was a scramble down one ladder and up the other and finally... over 2 hrs late... we took off.
Bless him, our delicious pilot took the shortest route home, apparently getting onto Air Control and asking if we could go straight across as it was so late and there were so few planes in the air.
So yea and verily and so on and so forth. Home I am and home I am glad to be. Especially after watching the news over the past few days. Gatwick? Heathrow? You guys have my sympathy.
Also, there will be Keeley over Christmas. Keeley with a better haircut and good clothes. Keeley on the BBC. This is pleasing to us.
"M&S don't have them" sayeth the Maternal Unit. "Nowhere has them" sayeth she.
Well HA! Cos I found one. And where did I find it? In M&S. So ner! :D
I was also chatted up by a deliciously tall and delightfully cheeky gentleman who was attempting to sell me things. Reader, look askance at me as you will, I bought them. He Was CHEEEKY!!! :D
So, shall we have a ramble about travel?
*strums lute*
Yea and verily. (It has to be done in bardic form, I was in Ireland after all)
Gather round my beloved 'earers and hear me speak. Let me a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood...
(It froze mine, but that might just have been the local air temperature)
Was in the year of 2010
Winter, almost Christmas, when
Our brave explorer began her mighty quest.
Her aim, to travel overseas
By any means that it might please
the gods to so allow her to escape
At first she thought: "I'll get a train!"
And thus be spared from any pain
especially connected to the Gorey bypass which has been too oft affected by snow and packed ice in recent weeks.
The train it came and all was well
good seats - a view, until night fell
Was this an omen? Would all go smoothly?
Or was this a brief peace before the final doozy?
All things end and soon enough
Connelly station appeared, through the dusk.
Where next to go? What choice to take?
Ferry? Coach? Or tempt her fate?
The airport, the airport, the airport...
It called to her across the miles (and toll road)
"Come to me" the sirens wailed,
"I'm open, I'm flying, I'm the quickest way home"
Brave to the last, our heroine took her courage in both hands and boarded the coach to the airport.
~ ~ Instrumental interval ~ ~ (you might want to pause here and refresh your Guinness glass - nothing will now happen for a LOOOOOOOOOOOONG time)
Lo, I did attempt to check in. And also verily. But despite the heaviness of my backpack the lady behind the counter couldn't do anything for me for half an hour. We shall skip over the usual hobbling through security with hiking boots in one hand while the other holds up trousers that threaten to descend in a flurry of embarrassment with every step.
Thus did I arrive at the gate. There was a seat. I sat in it. I finished my book (Stormbreaker, about my level :D). The plane was a wee bit delayed. I watched as much of an episode of Band of Brothers as my battery would allow. The plane was by now delayed by almost an hour.
But it wasn't cancelled. Which looking at the state of the departures board was a rare and good thing.
So there I was. Bored, cross-eyed, and still an hour and a half off even an optimistic hope of departure. I began to wander the halls.
Now, to be fair to them, the Ryanair bit of Dublin airport is really rather large. Long enough for three travelators. But it's not long enough to entertain a bored Treehugger for more than three oscillations of pacing.
Up one end there was a Santa Claus display. I looked at it.
There were windows out onto the tarmac. I looked out of them.
At the other end there was a juice stand that had a sign saying "back in 10 mins". I looked at it.
There was still an hour to wait.
After considering it rationally for a good while I walked in the wrong direction on the travelator. I then walked the entire length of the departure hall in the wrong direction on the travelators.
No-one noticed.
I then spent about 10 mins walking up the travelator, riding down and walking back up again. Surprisingly even rebellion against the system can get boring. In the end I dismounted.
There was still half an hour to wait.
Some lads waiting for the Manchester plane were playing keepy-uppy, but they looked at me funny when I wandered past for the 3rd time so I went back to my seat and began on the second book.
Eventually there was a cough from the speakers and great news was given unto us. There was a plane. A plane for us. It was however at a different gate. Luckily, after my wanderings I knew EXACTLY where all the gates were. The entire congregation up'ed and moved. There was queueing. I didn't queue. I don't queue. I sit down somewhere nearby and wait for the rush to die down. It's not like ANY of the seats on the plane are worth sitting on anyway.
The voice from above requested that people stopped queueing for just five minutes because this gate was for Stanstead and if anyone got through it they'd be going to soft southern land and they didn't want that did they? The congregation shivered as one and took a large step back.
Then came the moment. The moment we had all been waiting for. Some of us more than others. We were BOARDING! In fact I'd got involved in my book that they were doing the "Excuse me! hurry up please if you want to catch this one" and I had to scrabble somewhat.
A plane. A seat. What could possibly go wrong?
Well yes.
So after the nice pilot had come on the talky talky thing in his lovely Yorkshire accent and explained that there was a strange thingie on the paperwork and lo we would have to wait a tick while they re-prepared the plane he and the crew had flown over in to fly us home, they hooked us up to the pushy-truck thing and wheeled us round to opposite the new plane. Then it was a scramble down one ladder and up the other and finally... over 2 hrs late... we took off.
Bless him, our delicious pilot took the shortest route home, apparently getting onto Air Control and asking if we could go straight across as it was so late and there were so few planes in the air.
So yea and verily and so on and so forth. Home I am and home I am glad to be. Especially after watching the news over the past few days. Gatwick? Heathrow? You guys have my sympathy.
Also, there will be Keeley over Christmas. Keeley with a better haircut and good clothes. Keeley on the BBC. This is pleasing to us.