Easyjet - Enemy At The Gates

Chu Me and I had left the comfort of the Executive Lounge in Newcastle International Airport and were heading, in an elegant fashion, towards the announced gate. Gliding effortlessly down the corridor, each time one passed by a window the light of Señor Sol’s tentacles would catch the simple selection of diamonds one was wearing and blast a brilliant explosion of light throughout the passageway. One young lady with fake Louis Vuitton hand-luggage and inappropriate footwear asked her companion, ”Was that lightening?!” Concerned, one put one’s right hand on her shoulder and reassured her, “No dear, just flawless diamonds,” and walked on.

Now, in times gone by when one has used the services of Easyjet, one has normally found oneself at the same gate as one found oneself on this particular day. Two departure gates, hidden down a set of stairs, almost in the bowels of the airport, where everyone would previously congregate until they heard the bing-bong and then it was like the opening of a cut price Burberry outlet near a housing estate of chavs; the stampede would begin in earnest. (Still, after all these years, passengers with Boarding Group E think for some inexplicable reason that they can board when Boarding Group A is announced. Then when turned away, stand blocking the thoroughfare, scratching their heads like chimpanzees wondering what to do next.)

Recently, however, someone of limited intelligence has decided it would be far better to create an enormous queue by checking passports etc. at the bottom of the stairwell. To make matters worse, this particular trip saw a rather saggy-jowelled individual standing at the right of the stairs, at the bottom, leaning against the wall like a badly dressed hooker and clinging to a hand-luggage cage with her right hand. She was insisting passengers put their bags inside.

She was a well rounded creature, with blonde hair pulled back in an aubergine coloured scrunchy and her trousers were clinging on to her thighs for dear life. She had, one supposes, what Gok Wan would describe as an hour-glass figure. If that was the case, she was certainly containing more than her fair share of sand.

Anyhoo … one neared the lair of the dragon and she pointed at the aperture. One stood motionless, save one’s eyes looking down at the cage, then up at her face, then down to the cage, then up at her face.

“Could you put your bag in there?” She asked.

“More than likely, dear.” Then one turned to walk to a seat.

“Excuse me! All bags need to be checked for size.”

“Are we expecting the bag to have transformed into a suitcase since check-in, dear?” One said, finally sitting in a seat near the entrance to the gate.

On five occasions people put their hand luggage in and with handles, wheels etc. they proved difficult to remove; the light-weight structure of the tubular template lifted as they tried harder and harder to pull them back out. The Easyjet dragon, nevertheless, continued to hold the apparatus with her right hand. Well, after 5 minutes one stood and sashayed across to her. “For the love of God! Assist them dear! The contraption clearly needs a hefty weight to hold it down while they pull! Stick your hoof on it to give them a chance!”

The result was a resounding success and bags began popping out with gay abandon.

Finally, the flight was announced. Bing-bong and everyone rose to block the entrance of the embarkation aisle as normal. ‘Passengers with Speedy Boarding only please.’ However, one found oneself boxed in. Chu Me slipped through the legs of the blockade and turned to face one with a distressed look on his face.

“EXCUSE ME!!” One shouted. A row of heads turned. “Speedy Boarding does not function efficiently if one is stopped from doing so by a wall of insipid flesh and unnaturally bright fabrics!”

Like the parting of the Red Sea, a channel appeared and one sashayed through onto the aircraft. Chu Me selected a perfect position and covered the seating with the velvet throw. He then placed the small piece of sheepskin rug on the floor and placed a hand-embroidered scatter cushion against the back of the window seat. Just before take-off a woman appeared at the side of our row of seats with the stewardess.

“I think that’s the last seat.” She said, smiling and pointing at the seat in the centre, “May I?”

“You may not, dear!” One replied.

“The lady does need to be secured in a seat for take off and landing, Dame Crusty.” Said the stewardess in a rather condescending tone of voice.

One clapped one’s hands twice and Chu Me jumped up and grabbed hold of the woman and took her up the rear. Then in the toilet, he removed some gaffa tape from his leather man-bag and managed to secure her beautifully to the seat in there. Returning to the side of his mistress, one looked at the now open-mouthed stewardess.

“That should do it poppet! Now … be a dear and inform the Captain we’re ready to leave.”

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).

Crusty On Tour - The Holiday Begins.

September each year is a special time for Crusty; it is the time of year when one locks up Crusty Hall securely and takes a relaxing break under Señor Sol, allowing his lips of bronzing warmth to kiss one´s velvety soft flesh as one relaxes by a pool or on a sun-drenched terrace somewhere.

This year a long awaited visit to one´s dear, dear Catalan friends in the beautiful city of Barcelona and the gorgeous town of Palafrugell, near Girona; following that, a quick flight to Granada to spend 10 days of reflection and tranquility at Crusty Villa.

Some months prior to one´s departure, one was sitting enjoying a chat and small libation in The Badger´s Snatch with landlady Fanny O´Dour and one of the village triplets, Ida Rash. We began to talk about holidays and Fanny remembered it was nearing the time of one´s annual big trip.

It was at this point during our intercourse that the Vicar came behind me. He had overheard our conversation and suggested one´s private jet should remain grounded - owing to the current economic climate - and that one should use a budget airline instead, as I had earlier in the year (One asks ... what is the point of having one´s own plane if one does not use it?). After a lengthy, heated discussion and the Vicar´s promise that his wife, Marjorie Flecks, would not sing at the Christmas concert, one yielded.

Anyhoo ... One must say that the Easyjet flight out from Newcastle International Conservatory was a rather perculiar experience. On the 9th September, Chauffer dropped one at the enterance of Newcastle International Conservatory, along with my faithful houseboy, Chu Me. Everything, so far, was going smoothly. One was expected the security experience to be unpleasant - it always is at Newcastle International; one understands the importance of security but one can still be vigilante and pleasant at the same time. Each time one sashays through the detectors and one is approached by a member of the security staff, one feels like shouting, "Crack your face and makes your arse jealous, dear!"

This time one was asked to remove one´s jewel encrusted footwear (one doesn´t remember diamonds or rubies ever being used by terrorists before) and then a lady - for want of a better word - ran her hands up and down one´s legs. When she had finished, she looked up with a face like a dockworker´s daughter. One looked down on her ... smiled ... and said, " I wonder, dear! While you´re down there would you mind refitting one´s shoes? ... Hmmm?"

That was the worst part over, one could now relax in the VIP lounge until called.

Eventually we boared the plane and Chu Me covered three seats with a thick velvet throw and scatter cushions; he hung one´s framed pictures of Mark Makes-my-mouth-water Warr and Colin his-twinkle-make-y´tingle Briggs over the seats in front (they travel everywhere with me). One reclined and fastened a seatbelt around one´s slender waist and watched as chaos ensued. It would appear that the majority of passengers had never flown Easyjet before ... if flown at all. Six people! .... Six people approached Crusty! All waving boarding cards," Do you know where the seat number is on here?"

"Goodness, dear! Does one look like staff? It´s free seating ... anywhere ... ANYWHERE!" I replied, waving them away with the back of one´s right hand.

Finally, all passengers were settled and a rather hard-faced stewardess (genes or an over excessive application of make-up, one is uncertain) greeted us with rapid succession of words that would have surely confused the foreign passengers on board; in the event of an emergency, we purr ??!!

Still, the rest of the flight was acceptable, or at least until we approached the magnificence of Barcelona´s El Prat airport. After such a silky smooth flight, it would appear that the pilot had not seen the rather large length of rapidly approaching tarmac beneath us. After an initial whack against the runway, the scream from the passengers and a spillage of gin, the plane bounced twice before the brakes were applied fiercley and all on board were propelled forward towards the seat in front. The remainder of one´s gin flew over the woman in front but, frankly, her split ends were annoying one intensely and the liquid managed to produce a far more appealing result.

The drama over, it was now time for Crusty´s holiday to begin.