Sunday, 26 July 2009
Dear Reader, I have just come back from enjoying 5 days in the Outer Hebrides. I did a lot of chronicling whilst I was there and will blog accordingly over the next week or so, but here is the tale of a man delayed, a man with low blood sugar, low battery, and low tolerance for common people.
Hoorah my flight from Barra on the little 20 seater was great. It took off from the beach and all went smoothly to plan, although I was a bit worried that we were going to hurtle out of the sky at any moment. People don’t use the word hurtle so much these days do they -I digress. We landed at about 5.50 pm so I had an hour to kill at Glasgow airport before I could check in for my London flight. I used the time to catch up on emails having finally returned to the land of t-mobile coverage.
So yes, lovely, mmmmm, it's now 9.30 pm and my flight is NOW not due until 12.30 am, not the 8.45 pm as scheduled. Cunting, tit, tit, fuck, shit!
All I can say is that I've seen more nasty blouses to last me a lifetime. Who styles these people? And they are all either shouting or running for their gates at the very last minute - no doubt too busy eating fried food to keep an eye on the boards. Everyone seems to have silvery bags and children with NHS operation haircuts.
400 Rothmans and some Cinzano Len - HURRI!
I've been using my phone so much to pass the time on the interwap and to ask my brother to come and pick me up that my chuffing battery has run out of juice and my charger is in my case - note to self there me thinks.
'Tracey Marie - stop hitting Jason Carl!
There's a girl on the phone telling her mate she's delayed and hasn't got any money to even buy a drink. I might give her a couple of quid - why doesn't she have a switch card though - even the queen mum had a switch card.
They're calling each other now using grunts and groans - from pub to KFC the family can still communicate. Like whales across an ocean. Thank heavens I'm so tolerant I hear you say - thank heavens indeed.
I'm now thinking she can't be normal if she hasn't got a switch card. She sounds a bit Sloaney too, so maybe daddy's stopped her gold Coutts card.
I gave in and gave her £2 - last of the big fucking spenders I hear you say. Oh it doth runneth over. She's shimmying to Boots as we speak - as it closes.
Now I'm worried that she might want to come and talk to me. If that is the case I may offer her more money to go away.
I wonder whether a cocktail might be in order?
2 and a half hours to go.
There seem to be lots of old people in capped sleeves with shaved heads and sports gear. VERY scary, very barrow boy (man). They look like the sort of people who'd burgle you.
It feels as if it must be at least tomorrow - am v v tired now. I would have been due to land in about 10 mins - had all gone to plan.
Now there are lots of girls in matching black and pink outfits - I suppose it must be for a hen party trip - how local! Everyone else seems to have left - a few people sat behind me - all look normal so must be on the London flight.
Oh no - 3 more Magaloofers have just scuffled by - can't actually lift their feet up - leggings are too heavy obviously.
7 more lads with sports tops and NHS operation haircuts - I hope they miss their flight - that'll teach them a lesson in punctuality. Sorry am tired now - no need to be so bitter about the differently gifted.
It's just us and the delayed Bristols (Phnar!) now.
I suppose there'll be 3 final calls now for some backward magaloofer and their feral kin.
So sweet the sound of charity as his kind words doth flow from his heart of give, of fairness, of kinship. Oh Joy! and unto thine.
Earlier a very pregnant lady (cushion no doubt re benefits) tried to get me to sign a direct debit for the Red Cross. She asked me where I was from and when I told her she said 'We love handsome guys from London - they're minted!' I asked her how long until she dropped - 2 weeks. I can only hope that the disappointment of not securing my direct debit won't bring on her contractions - well you can only hope!
4 magaloofers are delaying the departure of their flight so the announcement says - not quite sure why they don't simply go rather than holding the whole flight up. It's actually Bourgas - Bulgaria I believe, but it's not steeped in as much degrading snobbery as the term magaloofers so think on. It's not so pleasing to me, the writer, the tired London writer.
She's not actually emptying the bins - she's just grabbing the top layer of detritus with her bare hands and transferring it to her cart - Bring out your dead!
Down or off - someone is playing Norman Cook very loudly. I suppose if you haven’t had too much opportunity for education - sorry I can't help myself. I'll stop now before I start a class war. I do like Zoe Ball though.
My 8.45pm flight left at 3.10 am.