It was a crispy Friday morning when Chu Me and I left one’s beloved Crusty Hall for the joys of Newcastle International Airport and our journey beyond; a weeks break at Crusty Towers, right in the heart of beautiful Valencia.
My dear pussy, Crotchet was well catered for during our holiday. Fanny would pop up regularly from the Badger’s Snatch to give him a little company, while the household staff were not in residence, and ensure his food requirements were maintained.
The mode of transport one had chosen to take us to the airport was GUSSET 3 (One does not wish to take the Bentley or the Aston to a car park that does not appear to have been swept regularly, does one?). Chu Me had loaded the luggage beautifully and ensured we were fully fuelled. Locking to great door behind us, one blew a kiss to Crotchet as he looked out from the Drawing Room window and we were on our way.
Entering the terminal building, we headed for the Easyjet desks and one began to search for the ‘dedicated’ check-in desk one had been notified of on the paperwork for our Speedy Boarding; a desk sprinkled with a little glitter perhaps, maybe a candelabra set to the side or a red carpet and cordon and a sign saying 'WELCOME, DAME CRUSTY'. But there was nothing; they all looked the same.
One asked a young gentleman on a car hire desk nearby and apparently, the term ‘dedicated’ means that it is available to everybody who has selected the Speedy Boarding option and not per individual. “How outrageous!” one said.
“I couldn’t agree more, Dame Crusty.” The charming young thing replied.
“You’re clearly a very sensitive young man, dear.” With that, one bid him farewell.
Gliding up to the not-in-the-slightest–bit dedicated desk, one was confronted by a pleasant enough young girl, looking very smart in her uniform but with a rather sour face hanging from beneath her hairline.
“Have you booked Speedy Boarding?” She enquired, in a rather direct fashion.
“One’s wearing Versace, dear, of course one has booked Speedy Boarding, unless of course you confuse delicious hand-stiched designer fabrics for an acrylic football strip or shellsuit ensemble?”
She immediately went red with embarrassment (Well, one presumes she did, there was so many layers of foundation applied to her facial epidermis one could only see a change in colour on the tips of her ears, so one took it as read).
Boarding passes dispensed, Chu Me and I made our way to the most joyous part of the Newcastle International Airport experience … security. Sashaying the two and a half mile of zig-zagging pens – crammed into a floor area that is only 2 metres in length - one drew closer to the x-ray machines and the slack-jowled staff that lay there in wait; their faces grimacing at the business people and holiday makers that kept them in employment. Honestly poppets, one appreciates the safety and security of Her Majesty’s realm is of the utmost importance but the old crack your face and make your arse jealous certainly applies here and, most certainly, wouldn’t go amiss.
A middle aged creature demanded one place one’s belongings on the conveyor belt for x- ray. One snapped one’s fingers and Chu Me jumped onto the belt and went through first. One placed one’s small clutch purse on next and then began to disrobe. A male security guard leapt over as one was just slipping off the strap of one’s gown.
“That’s not necessary, Dame Crusty!” he shouted, waving his hands.
“One must to be sure, dear,” continuing to undress. “One doesn’t want people running away screaming should one activate your equipment and get your bells clanging.”
Finally, having passed through the detector and after insisting the young security guard frisk one a third time (in case he missed something), one re-dressed and adorned oneself in the stunning selection of jewels one had chosen from the Gusset collection. Chu Me handed over one’s purse and we made our way past two very aggressive Credit Card representatives to the VIP lounge. (I’ve seen mature panthers take longer to pounce on their pray than those two and indeed, their aged, leatherette complexion made one wonder how their hips and knees even allowed them to spring at all .. especially in heels!).
Once in the VIP lounge, Chu Me moved a chair within view of the notice screen and placed a hand-embroidered silk throw over it. Placing a small, rectangular piece of sheepskin at the foot, he headed to the drinks section to tend to gin duties. It was then, that one could finally sit and relax, scrunching one’s toes in the soft, fluffy, cream fur beneath.
One took a sip of one's gin, sighed. The journey had begun!
My dear pussy, Crotchet was well catered for during our holiday. Fanny would pop up regularly from the Badger’s Snatch to give him a little company, while the household staff were not in residence, and ensure his food requirements were maintained.
The mode of transport one had chosen to take us to the airport was GUSSET 3 (One does not wish to take the Bentley or the Aston to a car park that does not appear to have been swept regularly, does one?). Chu Me had loaded the luggage beautifully and ensured we were fully fuelled. Locking to great door behind us, one blew a kiss to Crotchet as he looked out from the Drawing Room window and we were on our way.
Entering the terminal building, we headed for the Easyjet desks and one began to search for the ‘dedicated’ check-in desk one had been notified of on the paperwork for our Speedy Boarding; a desk sprinkled with a little glitter perhaps, maybe a candelabra set to the side or a red carpet and cordon and a sign saying 'WELCOME, DAME CRUSTY'. But there was nothing; they all looked the same.
One asked a young gentleman on a car hire desk nearby and apparently, the term ‘dedicated’ means that it is available to everybody who has selected the Speedy Boarding option and not per individual. “How outrageous!” one said.
“I couldn’t agree more, Dame Crusty.” The charming young thing replied.
“You’re clearly a very sensitive young man, dear.” With that, one bid him farewell.
Gliding up to the not-in-the-slightest–bit dedicated desk, one was confronted by a pleasant enough young girl, looking very smart in her uniform but with a rather sour face hanging from beneath her hairline.
“Have you booked Speedy Boarding?” She enquired, in a rather direct fashion.
“One’s wearing Versace, dear, of course one has booked Speedy Boarding, unless of course you confuse delicious hand-stiched designer fabrics for an acrylic football strip or shellsuit ensemble?”
She immediately went red with embarrassment (Well, one presumes she did, there was so many layers of foundation applied to her facial epidermis one could only see a change in colour on the tips of her ears, so one took it as read).
Boarding passes dispensed, Chu Me and I made our way to the most joyous part of the Newcastle International Airport experience … security. Sashaying the two and a half mile of zig-zagging pens – crammed into a floor area that is only 2 metres in length - one drew closer to the x-ray machines and the slack-jowled staff that lay there in wait; their faces grimacing at the business people and holiday makers that kept them in employment. Honestly poppets, one appreciates the safety and security of Her Majesty’s realm is of the utmost importance but the old crack your face and make your arse jealous certainly applies here and, most certainly, wouldn’t go amiss.
A middle aged creature demanded one place one’s belongings on the conveyor belt for x- ray. One snapped one’s fingers and Chu Me jumped onto the belt and went through first. One placed one’s small clutch purse on next and then began to disrobe. A male security guard leapt over as one was just slipping off the strap of one’s gown.
“That’s not necessary, Dame Crusty!” he shouted, waving his hands.
“One must to be sure, dear,” continuing to undress. “One doesn’t want people running away screaming should one activate your equipment and get your bells clanging.”
Finally, having passed through the detector and after insisting the young security guard frisk one a third time (in case he missed something), one re-dressed and adorned oneself in the stunning selection of jewels one had chosen from the Gusset collection. Chu Me handed over one’s purse and we made our way past two very aggressive Credit Card representatives to the VIP lounge. (I’ve seen mature panthers take longer to pounce on their pray than those two and indeed, their aged, leatherette complexion made one wonder how their hips and knees even allowed them to spring at all .. especially in heels!).
Once in the VIP lounge, Chu Me moved a chair within view of the notice screen and placed a hand-embroidered silk throw over it. Placing a small, rectangular piece of sheepskin at the foot, he headed to the drinks section to tend to gin duties. It was then, that one could finally sit and relax, scrunching one’s toes in the soft, fluffy, cream fur beneath.
One took a sip of one's gin, sighed. The journey had begun!
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