Tuesday, 17 July 2012

Postcards From Marbella Part 2 - Flying

Dear Reader, 

The last time I shared, I and the Dear Lady Wife were beginning the process of flying off to Marbella for a wedding. We had booked the tickets and accommodation. This was an epic journey in itself, but there is much more to come.

I have previously posted  about the joys of the DLW's preparation for a night out. Now we have to consider the much more exotic beast which is the DLW's preparation for a holiday. To prepare for a night out there is a list of things which need to be done, as below:
  • Nails - potentially
  • Hair - obligatory
  • Waxing or shaving - the mere thought makes me shudder so I will not dwell
  • Shopping, online - a whole host of objects are required that bizarrely the Dear Lady Wife appears not to be in possession of...
  • Clothes
  • Handbag
  • Shoes
  • Make-up
  • Hair products
  • Moisturisers, balms, ointments and other unguents to be applied to face, hands, skin etc.
To prepare for a holiday, some mathematical constants need to be applied to the list above and some new items will need to be added. The constants that can be applied to a given item in the above list are [Days Away] and [Panic Factor]. Note that [Panic Factor] is always a variable.
  • Nails - absolutely
  • Hair - obligatory
  • Waxing or shaving - the mere thought makes me shudder so I will not dwell, this is now obligatory
  • Shopping, online - a whole host of objects are required that bizarrely the Dear Lady Wife appears not to be in possession of * [Days Away] * [Panic Factor]
  • Clothes * [Days Away] * [Panic Factor]
  • Handbag * [Days Away] * [Panic Factor]
  • Shoes * [Days Away] * [Panic Factor]
  • Make-up * [Days Away]
  • Hair products  * [Days Away]
  • Moisturisers, balms, ointments and other unguents to be applied to face, hands, skin etc  * [Days Away]
  • Plugs for foreign destination. Just in case, it is necessary to bring every foreign plug for every foreign destination we have ever visited just in case our European hotel is having its electricity piped in from Thailand, or San Francisco, you never know, right?
  • Plasters and tissues, always plasters, always tissues. 
  • Something to repel mosquitoes, regardless of where we are going.
  • Jabs, there must be jabs.
There will also be a fake tanning session, as  previously posted  much to my chagrin. On this occasion we are visiting a sunny country, which means there will be an interesting metamorphis of the DLWs skin color. She will arrive faux brown, get lighter as it washes off, before catching up with where she started from with real tan. The irony of this is never lost on me. 

Then there is packing. I am not responsible for this, I am just the cup that receives DLW's frustration. My cup doth runneth over. I do have a purpose though, I am the finder, the fetcher and the carrier. Once this is all done we rush, hotfoot to the airport. It should be noted, for accuracy, that neither my feet, or the DLW's feet actually get hot on the way to the airport, making the word hotfoot in the previous sentence seem rather unnecessary. Has anybody literally run hotfoot anywhere? Never mind.

So to the terminal, at an airport that is occupied, neigh dominated, by a budget airline who shall remain nameless.

Damn spellchecker.
We breeze through check in, glide through security and are ensconced in our seats comfy and warm, a mere ten minutes after entering the terminal. The flight takes off immediately and we are are whisked to our destination. Then, I woke up, screaming, because the nirvana of air travel had so cruelly been plucked from my grasp. 

Let's try again, tearing apart the last paragraph activity, by painful activity.

Breeze Through Check In
This should be the easiest bit, to be fair it actually is. It still isn't as smooth as it should be though. I present my email confirmation on a piece of paper as requested. A lady of indeterminate age (due to exaggerated make-up and botox) regards with me a fixed and startled expression (which I hope is because of the botox, not my appearence.) "Is there just one of you flying today?" She demands without a single facial movement. "Erm, no, two." I respond, weakly, gesturing at the now fuming DLW and cases clearly belonging to two people. Some huffing and swearing follows, eventually a new question emerges. "Are there two of you flying today?" No shit Sherlock, I mutter under my breath, but the bags are eventually checked in.

There will be questions. Pay attention.
Glide Through Security
Perhaps this was a definition of the word glide I wasn't previously aware of. This definition involved scuttling, shuffling, some more scuttling and some more shuffling. A little shimmy and some swaying. All this over a period of about thirty minutes. Eventually there was some undressing and some awkward silences. Finally we were through security.

Shuffle, scuttle, perhaps a sashay, if you're feeling brave.
Ensconced In Our Seats - Part 1
This is actually the best bit. Having escaped security with out clothes (if not our dignity) intact we are in the shopping heaven that is the airport. There will be no ensconcing, but there will be shopping. The finest available provider of books and literature will furnish the DLW with Heat magazine and a bottle of water. The finest chemist will furnish us with extra plasters and mosquito repellent (you can't be too sure). An electrical outlet will look bemused as the the DLW explains her destination, along with her existing collection of travel plugs and demands variants, just in case.

Ensconced In Our Seats - Part 2
Now we must make our way to the gate. Our flight is boarding immediately (allegedly.) Upon arrival at the said gate it appears boarding means sitting in four extremely uncomfortable chairs which have been taken, or standing around. In the blink of an eye executed by an eyelid welded open by a crowbar traversing an eyeball covered in molasses things start to occur. More botox and exaggerated make-up (and that is just the boys) appear at some door. The smell of orange is cloying. Could we perhaps re-convene at another departure gate in a different postcode, suggests an orange, apparently the airplane driver got lost. We all tramp to our new departure gate.

There is a concept called speedy boarding touted by our flight operator who shall remain nameless. I am not sure who this applies to and neither does anyone else. When the gate eventually opens, boarding is the usual undignified fight for survival that typifies most budget airlines.

The Flight Takes Off Immediately
No, it doesn't. An eternity passes, then we start to move. Not at any great speed. The pilot must be getting paid by the hour, so insists on inching down the runway and most off rural Hertfordshire at approximately four miles an hour. Maybe he is lost as well. Another three eternities pass, finally the proverbial pedal is applied to the proverbial metal and we are off.

This has taken a while Dear Reader, I am sure you are breathless from the excitement, as am I.

More soon xxx


  1. Hahaha! It could easily be a scene out of 'Little Britain', passengers sashaying through security.

    I just love the way that you take an ordinary situation and make it extraordinary.

    Gloriously funny as always. :D

  2. Hahahaha excellent. I really could imagine the hustle and bustle from the way you wrote about it. Very funny. :-D