Barry's Beef

Greetings Comrades and it's welcome part deux from Australia. In Sydney now and it's 29 degrees, please don't feel too cold back in Blighty. This post relates to a flight undertaken a few days ago between Sydney and Melbourne.
A 1 1/2 hour flight for which I was perversely required to check-in 2 hours before departure. Being English and of a regulatory disposition I duly turn up 2 1/2 hour early and en route to the check-in help some old girl with her luggage. Of course, by old I am understating it somewhat. This lady outdated Captain Cook and probably Captain Cook's mother for that matter. Any the how I check in and go through security where I am required to take off my trainers, which in all honesty comes close to being qualified as a security risk. Alas being bored I decided to leave the terminal for a stroll and upon re-entering the airport realise that I need to go through security again where this time I do not need to remove my trainers. Either there exists little rhyme nor reason to domestic international security policy or it was a case of once bitten twice shy.
So onto the plane and well quite frankly the stewardesses are a bit on the ropey side. I know it's not important, but it is one prejudice that I have failed to overcome. I cannot abide ugly people. Mingers, munters, the aesthetically challenged whatever. I even prefer posh people, indeed blogging this evokes memories of the uber-right sub-faction of fops and barbour jacketed that constituted the renegade Monday Group tearaways from the UKC Tory society; a group so sublimely off to the Right so as to make John Reid appear a moderate. Off on a tangent. After getting settled, I was surprised when a third stewardess emerged from the rear of the plane and bless she's older than the other two none too junior staff. Combined. I didn't know if you had to reset your clock (as it turned out you don't) but I could only assume she'd set her's back. To about 1940. These three were more dinner ladies than trolley dollies and each one rougher than the first sketch of the Mona Lisa. However, having the knack of finding a silver-lining I tuned into a quite splendid soul/motown station pumping out Wilson Pickett and other such classics.
Nothing more to stay really, got there fine got back fine and currently back in Sydney. Off to Bedfordshire now, something I would like to do in more than one sense.

Labels: Flight of fancy, old dinner ladies