Plagiarism - pure and simple...

My sister, the ex-blogger formerly known as 'Footballer's Knees', posted this on her fb page yesterday.  I thought it worth reproducing here as it's so funny.  And sorry sis for not asking your permission but it is 5am your time and I figured that a) you wouldn't mind my using it and b) bearing in mind we are using the same airline ourselves today - on the newly introduced route to London from Moscow, which frankly is going to be a VERY interesting experience - it was relevant...


"Day trip to Newcastle today. Where to start? To rant or to rave? I could rave about the great Easyjet service, the dulcet tones of Paul McGann's recorded voice used for the flight safety notice (the words, 'Brace! Brace!' have new meaning for me), the way the staff of the exec lounge found my passport and delivered it to me at the gate, the fact that I was first off the plane. Didn't you know that it's a race from the plane steps to the airport arrivals exit? I'm not that fast but I beat the short fat-bottomed man in pin stripes and the woman with leopard print stilettos and bad hair extensions. 

Or, I could rant. Oh about so, so many things. Or rather, people. 

The loud and whey-faced people in the security queues who gave the Departure lounge the air of Appleby Horse Fair. Or the horse faced bint with the Accessory Child who held up the whole queue of passengers behind her whilst she placed her many bags in the overhead locker. Without apologising. And then held up the man who wanted to sit in the seat next to her whilst she searched in the locker again to find her phone, idle through her texts, perhaps check FB before she switched her phone off. And then delayed the actual take-off when she got the flight attendant to pull her bag out again to pass her Accessory Child something (I hoped it was some sort of tranquilliser, but alas, not). 

I was open mouthed with indignation at this point - that someone could so blatantly break the Gentle Passenger's Code of Conduct and I looked around to see if anyone was sharing that indignation but it appears that the Code is in my head as everyone else seemed unaware of the heinous crime being committed in seat 23A.

I'm now home in bed, ready for my 5.45 start tomorrow. Night night all!"


Hmmm.  Today could be very interesting.  And maybe I will break the habit of the last few years, and  actually listen to the safety announcement...

Flies in ointments

In the near future, The Boys and I will be on a plane heading back to the UK for a week. I usually manage to make it back there at least once every two and a half months or so - almost before I even have a chance anything - but it will have been nearly 14 weeks between visits this time and so I've had a little longer than usual to feel the absence of 'Home' in my life.

It's OK, though. Before I start getting carried away about the prospects of politeness in shops, hosts of golden daffodils, Waitrose, M&S Food, London in spring time, the lush countryside, lambs gamboling in the fields, lamb on my plate (I tried to buy some lamb for a casserole I was planning for 10 people yesterday but lost my nerve when I realised that the meat would have cost me nearly $100...), and street signs I can read in less than 4 seconds, I see that the powers that be have dropped a few flies in the ointment to make sure I don't get too over-excited.

For example, whilst the weather gods have been blessing Blighty with blazing sunshine over the last few days, the forecast is that the temperature will drop back to around 11 or 12degC in honour of our visit. And then there is the current fuss and commotion over the potential of the Unite trade union calling out the drivers of petrol tankers (currently delivering to 90% of the UK's petrol stations) on strike, just around the time we are planning on picking up our hire car to start our whistle-stop tour of hard-to-reach friends and relatives around southern England.

Not forgetting of course the fact that the connecting flight from Moscow to London which Husband organised for the Boys and I in an effort to save cash, and which he expressly promised at the time of booking I would not under any circumstances have to take on my own after last time (as in, without him) proved - by the time he got around to organising his own ticket - to have no availability left.

All together now; 'There'll be blue skies over, the white cliffs of Dover...'

In the stratosphere and Ikea, no-one can hear you scream

I'm torn. Which is the better way to start a new year? Is it:

1. Flying home from London to Moscow via a one hour stop-over in Zurich, convinced that the total saving of, oh, about £150, is completely worth it because, what's an extra hour or two on your journey when you have two sons who absolutely love flying? Until, that is...

...the plane for the first leg of your journey leaves 20 minutes late, cutting your 1 hr window to change planes to 40 minutes in an unknown airport where you don't know how long the disembarking / changing gates / re-scanning bags / resubmitting passports for visa checking / embarking process takes...

.... and your husband notices in an annoyingly relaxed fashion just after you have boarded the first of your two flights that he only has baggage tags for 3 of the 4 bags you checked in (WTF?)...

...and your younger son proceeds uncharacteristically to throw up on not one but both of the flights you take.

Or...

2. Spending a grey and drizzly Russian Bank Holiday afternoon in Ikea with most of the population of Moscow, all of whom seem to be there with their extended families on a lovely day out, as you stagger around with jetlag and (look away now, any gentlemen reading this) period pains, trying to hold an intelligent conversation with your husband about bathroom cabinets and frying pan lids. Although not in the same section of the store, obviously.

Hmmm. The jury's out on this one, I think.