Day 135
Holiday - Day Seven
Unbelievably, it’s still raining.
I think it may have subsided during the night for a couple of hours but started again just in time for everyone to get a drenching before breakfast.
I can’t be entirely certain of this but there were one or two people sat around the tables with dry clothing as the majority were looking like drowned rats with steam gently rising from their t-shirts. The problem with this is that as they slowly dried off, the damp clothing mingled with a sweaty armpit or two and the resulting body odor smelt like my feet after a particularly bad day down the pub.
However, we had to endure it, as I needed some kind of sustenance in my system prior to boarding the plane back home. The main reason for this is that I don’t eat airline food…and I use the term “food” in its loosest possible term.
By recalling the brief conversation with an air stewardess on the way back will probably put it into context:
“Er…what was this?”
“Honey glazed chicken with fresh vegetables”
“Ok…and what the fuck is it now?”
Fortunately, a combination of the Imodium and my constant refusal to accept any foil wrapped crap thrust towards me by the airline staff ensured my bowels movements had reduced to a mild grumble so I was able to complete the flight without any mishaps.
Consequently the flight went without incident until we landed.
On our arrival back in the UK, we discovered that there had been a mix-up by the baggage handlers and we waited over an hour before our luggage finally appeared.
The problem with waiting this length of time is Mrs. Snowman’s suitcases may have exploded prior to collection. Of course, they didn’t contain any combustible materials but were in danger of bursting and spilling clothing across the airport.
This is a strange phenomenon that affects the wife whenever we travel abroad.
Her suitcases seem to shrink on the final day and no longer contain the space they had when we left.
After battling with them for a while and re-folding her clothes a few times she eventually managed to get everything in by the simple solution of sitting on them and getting me to pull the zipper around.
Thankfully, they remained intact so our fellow passengers were not treated to the sight of several pairs of her knickers crawling across the floor.
Having been stuck on the plane for an hour I was gasping for a drink.
You won’t be surprised to hear that the only currency I had was Euros and the drinks dispenser only took Sterling.
Spiffing.
Luckily there is a Bureau de Change in the baggage hall where mentally unbalanced people can get shamelessly ripped off. I say this because there is a £2 fee plus an outrageously high commission for exchanging notes. This meant that if I changed 10€, I’d receive just enough in return to purchase a small bottle of over-priced Coke from the machine.
I advised them to shove their offer where the sun doesn’t shine and decided to wait until we got to the main airport lounge.
If there were still any doubts we were back in England, it was confirmed by the bus transfer to the car park. If you’ve ever seen footage of those brightly colored Indian buses that race along dirt tracks with passengers hanging off the roof and the interior containing another hundred people and a couple of goats you’ll get some idea of the journey.
And the air conditioning didn’t work.
We were packed in like a porn stars balls in a pair of tight swimming trunks.
After reaching our destination and falling out of the bus we had to wait another ninety minutes while they extracted the car from the most inaccessible spot available, i.e.: the epicenter of the car park and blocked in by about a hundred other vehicles.
So, following a week of insomnia, rain, diarrhea, delays and green drinks I’ve returned home to find the domestic state of chaos completely unaltered. This was brought into immediate focus when Small Child managed to extract itself from its diaper and pissed on the carpet before I’d even taken my jacket off.
I think I need a holiday.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $ I’ll find out tomorrow.
Unbelievably, it’s still raining.
I think it may have subsided during the night for a couple of hours but started again just in time for everyone to get a drenching before breakfast.
I can’t be entirely certain of this but there were one or two people sat around the tables with dry clothing as the majority were looking like drowned rats with steam gently rising from their t-shirts. The problem with this is that as they slowly dried off, the damp clothing mingled with a sweaty armpit or two and the resulting body odor smelt like my feet after a particularly bad day down the pub.
However, we had to endure it, as I needed some kind of sustenance in my system prior to boarding the plane back home. The main reason for this is that I don’t eat airline food…and I use the term “food” in its loosest possible term.
By recalling the brief conversation with an air stewardess on the way back will probably put it into context:
“Er…what was this?”
“Honey glazed chicken with fresh vegetables”
“Ok…and what the fuck is it now?”
Fortunately, a combination of the Imodium and my constant refusal to accept any foil wrapped crap thrust towards me by the airline staff ensured my bowels movements had reduced to a mild grumble so I was able to complete the flight without any mishaps.
Consequently the flight went without incident until we landed.
On our arrival back in the UK, we discovered that there had been a mix-up by the baggage handlers and we waited over an hour before our luggage finally appeared.
The problem with waiting this length of time is Mrs. Snowman’s suitcases may have exploded prior to collection. Of course, they didn’t contain any combustible materials but were in danger of bursting and spilling clothing across the airport.
This is a strange phenomenon that affects the wife whenever we travel abroad.
Her suitcases seem to shrink on the final day and no longer contain the space they had when we left.
After battling with them for a while and re-folding her clothes a few times she eventually managed to get everything in by the simple solution of sitting on them and getting me to pull the zipper around.
Thankfully, they remained intact so our fellow passengers were not treated to the sight of several pairs of her knickers crawling across the floor.
Having been stuck on the plane for an hour I was gasping for a drink.
You won’t be surprised to hear that the only currency I had was Euros and the drinks dispenser only took Sterling.
Spiffing.
Luckily there is a Bureau de Change in the baggage hall where mentally unbalanced people can get shamelessly ripped off. I say this because there is a £2 fee plus an outrageously high commission for exchanging notes. This meant that if I changed 10€, I’d receive just enough in return to purchase a small bottle of over-priced Coke from the machine.
I advised them to shove their offer where the sun doesn’t shine and decided to wait until we got to the main airport lounge.
If there were still any doubts we were back in England, it was confirmed by the bus transfer to the car park. If you’ve ever seen footage of those brightly colored Indian buses that race along dirt tracks with passengers hanging off the roof and the interior containing another hundred people and a couple of goats you’ll get some idea of the journey.
And the air conditioning didn’t work.
We were packed in like a porn stars balls in a pair of tight swimming trunks.
After reaching our destination and falling out of the bus we had to wait another ninety minutes while they extracted the car from the most inaccessible spot available, i.e.: the epicenter of the car park and blocked in by about a hundred other vehicles.
So, following a week of insomnia, rain, diarrhea, delays and green drinks I’ve returned home to find the domestic state of chaos completely unaltered. This was brought into immediate focus when Small Child managed to extract itself from its diaper and pissed on the carpet before I’d even taken my jacket off.
I think I need a holiday.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $ I’ll find out tomorrow.