‘We just have three more pick-ups then I’ll be back to you
in forty minutes with details of your check-in desk.’ Chirrups the annoying,
tubby Newcastle girl, who only knows a lot of Greek because she’s shagged half
the resort waiters in the last six months. We’re on the coach home and already
I’m stressed. I’m still not sure the driver put both cases on board the bus,
which could be a mixed blessing as I’ve a feeling we might be a bit overweight
on baggage, as well as personally. The all-inclusive package majored on
quantity not quality, but if it’s available…
‘Glad we didn’t stay there.’ I say to my wife, as the coach
stops outside a budget option, with rooms on to the main road. She shushes me
in disapproval. Apparently I have volume control issues. Something to do with
pool water in both ears and playing my iPod at high volumes to drown out any
chance of conversation with fellow guests wanting free, no obligation
valuations on a home 2,000 miles away. I watch, as a hot and stressed chavvy
family of five climb on the bus – not that I’m judgemental. The squealing kids
are high on sugar and the tattooed parents look half-pissed. The wife is
wearing an unflattering crop-top, showing a vast stomach with a pierced belly
button that might prove challenging at security. The oafish-looking father of
at least one of the kids, judging by the noses, is sadly sporting an England
football top. It makes you want to give up.
‘Gate five, enjoy your flight home.’ Chimes Geordie Shore,
as I think endure, more like. The big-arsed girl exits stage left with a
swarthy-looking driver named Spiros. They clearly have time, or something, to
fill before the next incoming flight. I grab the bags and start limping as fast
as I can towards the appointed gate.
‘There’s no point in hurrying,’ says my wife annoyingly.
‘You can’t beat the system.’ God, I hate it when she’s right.
Needless to say the family of five future claimants are
right behind us in the check-in queue. One that moves at a sloth’s pace, for
the next forty minutes, while the youngest budding My Fat Gypsy Wedding starlet,
whacks my ankles with one of those ubiquitous ride on cases the Dragons' Den
moguls turned down. And they say travel broadens the mind.
‘Can you drink any more?’ Asks my wife, as we halt outside
the scanners and join the undignified queue of quaffers all necking as much
water and fizzy soft drink as they can hold, before being forced to bin all
liquids. There’s a small mountain of unopened cans and bottles being harvested
by a sly-faced cleaner. I fully expect to see, spookily similar items on sale
at five times the price, just fifteen yards past the x-ray machine. The stress
is building and that’s before the inevitable pat down by a vast Cretan with
body odour and halitosis, after I set off the scanner buzzer despite having
stripped to little more than my underpants and a t-shirt. I swear that back
surgeon left some sort of surgical instrument in there somewhere. I should sue,
like everyone else.
‘Nothing worthwhile in duty free.’ Reports my wife as I hop
back and forth, guarding the bags but desperate for a piss after drinking
several litres of water in short order. ‘It’s all a bit overpriced.’ She
continues. Like the London property market then, I think, as I leave her with
the hand luggage and check out the grim Greek plumbing for the last time. Look,
I’m not putting the toilet paper in an adjacent flyblown bin, no matter how
many languages you put the sign in. You’re in the EEC now - sort your sewerage
out.
‘We have a zero tolerance policy for disruptive behaviour.’
Warns the camp cabin steward, seconds before announcing the ninety-minute
air-traffic delay. Then the five-year old kid with a nose stud, sitting behind,
starts kicking my seat.
Five and a half hours of coughing, sneezing, seat battering
and incipient deep-vein thrombosis later – the knee length socks with shorts
are best kept to the imagination – we plunge into a murky Gatwick airport.
I need a break.
-----
Social housing or private sector - I've seen it all. Learn about it with the exclusive content ebook on Amazon, here
US Readers: http://amzn.to/vXpFJf
No comments:
Post a Comment