Saturday, 13 March 2010

Valencia 2010 (Part 2)– VIP Lounge or Private Party for Undesireables.

Some moments had passed and the VIP lounge at Newcastle International Conservatory was gloriously quiet.

As one sipped a rather pleasant gin - Chu Me standing at the window in awe at the big, metal birds - one could see and hear the sensual vocal chords of Colin his-twinkle-makes-me-tingle Briggs giving the region its daily roundup of news.

A small droplet forced itself from one’s tear duct as one realised one would not see one’s delicious poppet while one was away and, for a moment, one was plunged into a gaping crack of sadness. The recollection that one was only away for a week was the key to snap one back up again, as if on a bungee cord of anticipation.

Spirits lifted, one began to notice a party of four people – 3 men and a possible woman - who, though remaining respectfully quiet, were consuming copious quantities of alcoholic beverages from the drinks section. Every 15 minutes one of the relatively young men would walk over, collect an arm full of beer cans and return to his seat. Moments later another would stand and collect glasses filled with wine. As the men-folk sat supping their beverages, the suspected female would then rise up regularly and retrieve bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale – for herself - only to take them back and drink them directly from the bottle.

For over an hour their scavenging trips rapidly began to deplete the stocks of the lounge. Yet, the poor solitary attendant felt she was not in a position to object and no doubt feared the response she would receive from the Brown Ale binging buffalo even if she did.

On one of the trips by the male members, the attendant was cleaning the service area and as he went to fill a further 3 glasses of wine, she said to him, “Why not take a bottle? It’ll save you getting up all the time.”

One leaned over the side of one’s chair, “Indeed, why not take the whole lot, dear! One may even have a bottle in Chu Me’s bag if you run short!”

He walked to the party table. Half way there he turned back and looked. One raised one’s tumbler and gave a contemptible smile, then one returned to a state of sedate sippage.

Moments later, the she-creature stood up and walked to the refrigeration unit to claim her next bottle of Brown Ale. Her nail-bitten mitten was just about to grab the neck of the bottle when one interjected.

“One understands now why they say 'having a bottle of dog', dear!” A sip of gin followed.

The hand stopped short of the bottle and she stood up and turned in the direction of one’s chair. “Eh?”

“Eloquently put, dear! No ... one was just commenting; one understands why they say 'having a bottle of dog' … your appearance, dear." One said. waving one's finger up and down her length. "One suspects split ends and the facial aspect of the north face of the Eiger wouldn’t have been the result were you to have succumbed to … let’s say … a life of white wine spritzers.”

Her jaw tightened as she spun round to face the fridge. Her hand moved towards the bottle of Brown Ale, then hovered momentarily before moving to the side and reaching for a bottle of mineral water instead. She stood up as straight as she could with appalling posture and held her head up in a pseudo-snooty fashion and began to walk back to her seat.

“One suspects it’s a little late for hydration, poppet … nevertheless … Bravo!”

Finally, the gold ingot that broke the lid of the antique mahogany casket occurred.

One did not wish to disturb Chu Me. He was engrossed in jumping towards the window and clapping his hands in an attempt to chase the big metal birds away and relishing his lack of success (One feels he doesn’t yet grasp the wonder of the aeroplane), so one went to refill one’s tumbler with a further pre-holiday gin and tonic. One of the alcohol-fueled sump-brigade appeared at one's side

“We thought we’d have another drink before the flight … if that’s ok with you?!” He said sarcastically.

“Well, if there’s anything left, dear.”

His hairy, unmoisturised right hand rose up. It was then, as if one had obtained Spiderman’s ‘spidey-sense’, one sensed danger. Something was vibrating inside one as the realisation dawned he was heading for the half filled bottle of gin in front of us. With cat-like reflexes one whisked up one of the plastic picnic folks – ridiculously laid out to give the impression of acceptable cutlery – and stuck it in the back of his hand. As he reeled back in pain, one grabbed the body of the bottle, picked it up and turned to go back to one’s silk covered chair.

“There are boundaries in life, dear, and you very nearly crossed a very dangerous one.”

At that moment, they were called for their flight and normality was restored; the remaining three assisting their blood-soaked team mate out into the main building. The attendant thanked one for the assistance one had provided and went to clean up the mess that had been left.

Soon after, the embarkation of Easyjet flight 6401 was announced and we were underway on the next leg of our journey; beautiful Barcelona beckoned (one’s second home and a place that holds a very special place in one's heart).


  1. Goodness how provocatively unpleasant to meet such Compatriots! I didn't know plastic forks could inflict such justified damage, I oft struggle to prong a mere cocktail sausage. I'm relieved both you and the gin escaped their company unscathed. Mwah xx xx xx

  2. Honestly, my most gorgeous poppet, one knows the services are free but really!

    Anyhoo ... the secret of the plastic fork is the angle of trajectory. It takes some practice but when one has cracked it, the utensils can have the feel of steel.

    However, one is still puzzled why plastic cutlery would be deemed suitable for an executive lounge. Strange is it not, poppet?

    Love and cuddles,
    Crusty x x x

  3. Thank you darling Crusty I've taken note of your advice on handling those dreaded plastic items of cutlery. perhaps the reason for them in the executive VIP lounge can be explained by the amount of prima donna's who pass through. Many famous ones are renown for temper tantrums,it's possible some woebegone hanger on or staff member has experienced a foul mouthed celeb brandishing a stainless steel knife, fork or spoon menicingly. Maybe like me the airport exec's couldn't prong a cocktail sausage with plastic so deemed them safe. Much love xx xx