Flap Yer Arms Hard Boy, A Mancy Airport Tale

Curse you Malone-Lee (first year English Teacher) for teaching me how to spell Q-U-E-U-E and leaving it imprinted in my head with a auditory memory of the whole class chanting the bloody word. Why the curse? Because that was the story of our day in the Land of Manc. Took an hour to check in because the conveyor belt had been lent by the airport to the Beeb for the Generation Game and came back from them completely shagged. This tempted me to yell 'Teas made, Cuddly Toy, Facial Sauna, Some Other Shite You Never Wanted' and 'Didn't he/she delete as appropriate do well?' I resisted the temptation because in these unhappy times levity at Airports is never a wise move. Still on the plus side we meet a pleasant family and we're in august company as Dame Tanni Grey-Thompson checks in and shows the same stoical patience that the rest of us have too!

Eventually we check-in and decide food options are better before the security check if only marginally, we opt for Garfunkels. Personally I'd rather eat at Simon's I find Art slightly sinister. Food is OK but it ain't stunning. Anyway once done the curse of Malone-Lee strikes again. Folk still aren't used to regulations regarding the transport of liquids. The result another huge Q-U-E-U-E to get through to the departure lounge. Miracle of miracles 45 minutes after starting we get through to the security check and I don't bleep (with the exception of the bleep track in my head). I know they have to do it but I'm gonna have to confess later to the Americans that I'm not a terrorist, never committed genocide, been a member of the Nazi/Communist parties. If they'll take my word on it why can't our people just chill a bit? (All of this makes a change, usually I bleep and get felt up by some geezer who doesn't tip me a wink, flash me a smile or offer any vague sense of encouragement).

We're flying My Travel, cheap and cheerful which means that the mean gits will flog you every drink they serve. If they didn't use disposables I'd offer to wash up for a free cuppa.

Finish 'The Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs' with four hours flight to go. The entertainment on the flight doesn't offer a film I want to watch and I'm on a bit of a musical break. Scribble the usual Visa Waiver form as some sort of diversion (I don't fill it in right though and at customs it requires some slight additional attention). Occasionally catch glimpses of Canada out the window but can't see any Mounties. Scribble notes for this thing. Use a dash for the downstairs bog by Monst and Cal to get a new book, they are to quick though but Monst takes pity on me and hands me 'Glue', I didn't pack 'Porno' somehow it isn't quite Disney. I get bored and reach for the Jonathan Richman. Eventually we arrive....and need to sort the transfers.

Jonathan Richman - Pablo Picasso/I Was Dancing in a Lesbian Bar