SYD to LHR on a Plane
Trip Report SYD to LHR on a Plane
The start of the holidays and I was really looking forward to returning to London after a 10-year absence. Being December, I was slightly hoping that it would be snowing in London for Christmas just like in Charles Dickens. Awaking early after the last day at work, too many whiskies had given me a head from hell and I was in a state about what to pack, wear take. It’s summertime in Sydney and it really is hard to get a clear head around maximum temperatures in the single figures let alone minimum. Feeling slightly extravagant, I decide 2 Berocca’s and nurofen are the answer and after a while I am ready to go.
Arriving at Sydney Airport I pay the cabbie handsomely for being kind enough to turn the air con on. He reciprocates by getting off his backside and hauling my case out of the boot. So there I stand waiting kerbside for the attendant to collect my bag and escort me to the check-in counter. I wait………….and wait ………and wait. I decide that perhaps they didn’t realise it was me and venture inside to find the executive premium counter myself.
It’s appalling that airports are so full of, people. They really are a hindrance and make it very difficult to manoeuvre. After asking a few people in uniform where my exec premium counter is and receiving blank looks as if I were from another planet I do eventually find it on my own. How was I meant to know they were from some “group” checking in for a flight to some CAMP! EEK!
I walk purposefully towards the nice lady sitting at the desk and am delighted to see that she has arranged to have flowers on the counter for me. I explain to her that I’m flying to London and hand over my ticket. The nice lady then asks some very funny questions about who packed my bag and if there was anything sharp in my carry-on? I really thought I was trying to be nice and couldn’t think what I said to her to think I was being sharp with her. Just a misunderstanding I felt and I apologised and mentioned that my case was on the kerb waiting for her to collect. I then thanked her very kindly for buying me the flowers and gathered them with my little ticket and wandered off into the terminal.I was rather annoyed that “little miss” started shouting at me about my bag but then I though she was just trying to say how delighted she was to see me and I waved accordingly.
Into the terminal and the nice young gentleman at the desk asked to see my documents so I handed him my bag. I told him about my latest copy of Wallpaper and GQ and how looking forward to reading them I was. Unfortunately he really didn’t share the same taste and was only after some slip that “little miss” had given me together with my pocket stamp album. Beyond the obsessive stamper and another barrier between my seat, and me some contraption on which I am asked to place my belongings. I start to feel concerned at this point and mention how surprised I am that they don’t know who I am, all to no avail of course and then away my belongings go into the darkness of some conveyor. Resigned to not having my latest magazines and personal habituaries, I panic at that moment, realising that I really could not last without my favourite lip balm so I dive elegantly (I thought) through the forboding flaps of the contraption to rescue my bag. Well, they could have explained things clearer is all I can argue.
Travel is not what it once was and if I digress reader, it’s only to ask you to reflect on times of past.
Past the discomfiture of rolling through some x-ray device has none of the comforts of a CT scanner and having some “attendant” review my body in profile as if some carry-on, I trundle forward seriously in need of prescriptive comfort or a Bloody Mary. I’m feeling rather fragile now and with mere hours to spare I seek sanctuary and assistance with my now wilting flowers in the lounge only to be pestered more about “that” pass. Why are these people so obsessed by this piece of paper?
Once presented, solitude at last and I thank [big miss] her kindly and request that she find a proper vase for my flowers and bring me a Bloody Mary, hot and spicy! Another unusual response but then I convince myself that it is the difficult environment of working in air reeking of kerosene that makes them flare their nostrils such.
Settling in finally to some peace and solitude I worry momentarily about my decision not to wear underwear and how unfortunate that it was displayed for all to see on the conveyor. I sip on my BM and scoff at my sensibilities. Looking around I see a number of people animated into the phones all mentioning “I’m in the first class lounge…blah.. blah …. I console myself with another hot and frisky BM that I was directed to make myself by big miss, hmm, getting uncomfortable in here.
Boarding is announced and I stop by the drinks counter and select a few beverages for the flight concerned that they may not have enough onboard. I walk forever to the parking spot cursing that the plane could have parked closer. You guessed it, more people infatuated with that BP, I submit to their little fetish and stroll aboard. Yet more scrutiny of the BP, I start to think about my own values at this stage but resist convincing myself that it’s some sort of procedure. Once viewed and told he has a seat over there just for me I ask him for champagne, I’m feeling great!
Onboard now and I will write about the flight once I can find a power point.
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 15, 2004).]