Christmas morning by myself as Justine is working.
Meh.
Still, I’ve got back to back Big Bang Theory and I’ve eaten like a Hobbit.
Two breakfasts.
Nom nom nom…
Tis the season to be greedy….
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Category Archives: Humour
Apocalip-service
Today was the predicted end of the world by the Mayans.
Oops. It looks like you may have been wrong fellas.
Who knew?
Not me and several billion people on the planet.
This pretty much sums it up for me.
Another delayed journey…
This morning I had the joy of a lift to the train station as my girlfriend isn’t working today.
Result.
The downside with mentally allocating yourself more time in the morning is that you then tend to over-allocate which today resulted in us leaving much MUCH later than we should have. In fact, I was urging her to take most corners on two wheels.
She obliged.
And now I need a change of trousers.
Anyway, we screeched up outside the station and I jumped out of the car with true action movie prowess; running towards the platform at breakneck speed (or what my legs were capable of at 7:30am this morning) as my train was already there.
Whilst I traversed the bridge over the train I thought to myself that I might even possibly maybe consider the theoretical likelihood that, if the train were to begin pulling away, I would jump off the bridge and onto its roof. That way I could not only get into work on time, but also defy the laws of inertia by chasing and fighting some Bond-esque villain complete with limp, eye-patch and a briefcase with classified documents, microfilm and ballistic missile launch codes inside.
As it happens the train didn’t pull out, so I got on it with seconds to spare. It seems those top secret codes will get into the enemy hands after all.
Ah, what did I care; I got a seat.
But hang on, something’s not right. The train’s departure time had come and gone and we were still sat there. It was at this point I was filled with dread as the voice of the driver came crackling over the speaker system; “Good morning ladies and gentlemen, I do apologise for the delay to our service this morning, but we’re being held at a red signal.”.
No shit? Really? I hadn’t considered that.
He continued; “Due to a trackside fire at Preston Park there is now a backlog of trains and we’re awaiting platform space at Three Bridges station before we can continue”.
Ooh, now that’s a little more exciting.
We continued to sit there.
At this point I thought I heard uneven footsteps above me, but shrugged it off and decided to text work and let them know I was going to be late due to issues with the trains. I must admit it was mostly so they knew I was actually awake and hadn’t overslept.
We then sat there for a further 20 minutes.
During this time I was within earshot of a conversation between two women who were talking at the volume intended to encourage other people to listen. One of them was complaining that the driver should just use the ‘bypass track’ to miss out the offending station and get us on our way, whereas the other woman was saying that she’s sure they’re doing everything they can to get us on our way.
This pointless interaction went on for a while and reminded me of football pundits discussing a game they weren’t involved in, had no control of and ultimately speculating on what the players were actually thinking when in reality they should just shut the fuck up.
Soon enough the guard walked through the carriage and was stopped by Mrs Bypass-Track. She asked why we couldn’t just ‘go around’ the other trains. The guard tried to explain, through a forced smile that resembled a clown taking a shit, that all the platforms were in use and there were no tracks for us to use. She still continued to ask why we couldn’t just bypass them, as if the concept of trains and tracks had eluded her. The guard said they were doing everything they could to get us on our way which resulted in the smuggest look from the other woman who had said the exact same thing not 5 minutes earlier.
I knew there was nothing I could do so I sat back, relaxed and closed my eyes for an extended morning train snooze.
I was woken briefly by what sounded like a faint shriek followed by a dull thud and a clatter resembling a briefcase hitting train tracks.
I think the lights flickering slightly too, but then the train started moving so I shrugged it off, closed my eyes again and drifted off.
Costa fficient?
I’m sat on the train to work and I’m thinking about my time in the US, particularly the stupidity and arrogance of the indigenous people therein.
Firstly, how can they claim their store, business or product is ‘World Famous’ when it clearly isn’t? I hate to break it to you America, but your ‘World Famous Pancake Combos’ are only known amongst the heavier majority of your fine nation, not the world. It’s true, I checked. I asked my mum and she’d never heard of them.
Whilst on the subject, what’s with the World Series of baseball? I believe that’s just you guys too….
But the arrogance is tolerable; it’s the stupidity that I find fascinating.
Point in question; we went for a morning bagel and coffee one morning. The bagel shop seemed nice enough; complete with staff who didn’t get our British humour or sarcasm but were happy to smile nonetheless.
They were selling coffee in three sizes; small, medium and large. Now that may seem normal and sensible until you consider this….
They were all free refills.
No legroom legroom seats
I’ve boarded the plane. I’ve had to turn right, which I hate doing, and I head towards the back of the aircraft gleefully looking for my non-upgraded consolation; an emergency exit seat. I look at the row numbers as I repeat mine in my head over and over…
Row 49, row 49, row 49
Ah, here it is. Great.
Im looking at the seat configuration as i’m in seat K which I now see is the window seat. Cool.
I look down and realise that most of the legroom is taken up by the door, so I only have enough legroom for my left leg.
I’m basically sitting side saddle.
Perfect.
Add to this the fact that I have two Americans sat behind me with that valley girl Britney Spears type of accent that goes up at the end of every (dumb) sentence, and my personal hell is complete.
Oh well, at least it’s only for nearly 8 hours.
——–
Update:
——–
Since finishing this blog entry, it’s become clear that the people next to me aren’t coming…so now I have 3 seats to myself.
Time to spread out and sleep.
Goodnight.
Plane Chocolate
Why are Toblerones such a big thing at airports?
Discuss.
Killing him softly….
My dodgy stomach has been no fun on this trip. When I finally made it through all the security checks at Orlando International airport, I made a dash to the mens room for the inevitable.
Having negotiated all the same wet toilet seat issues from my blog on the 11th of December, I sat down to my Jamaican attraction; Dung River Falls.
I flushed, stood up, wiped my brow, caught my breath and my balance, unlocked the stall with the massive gaps (11th Dec blog) and opened the door.
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
There was a guy waiting for an empty stall, and I’d just vacated one.
I looked at him with a sense of sadness and guilt. I wanted to hug him and, whilst holding back tears, wish him good luck.
His family are going to miss him.
Jingle bells, Batman smells….etc…
It’s nearing Christmas, so it’s expected that there would be Christmas songs playing in every shop and mall in the USA, but this is where the Americans get it right.
It’s all songs like “Let it snow”, “Have yourself a merry Christmas” and “White Christmas”. There’s no sign of George Michael, Band Aid or (bloody, f’ing, frigging, sodding) Slade anywhere.
For this I’ll forgive them saying “Happy holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas”.
A real OxyMoron
Whilst in the restrooms at Epcot, washing my hands, I noticed the big, intimidating, scary looking Hispanic dude at the next sink was wearing a pair of Minnie ears.
I didn’t really know how to react.
Laughing was definitely not one of my options though.
Exit left, right?
Today we visited Disney World in Orlando. It was an expected series of events including a lot of ‘cast members’ with coat hanger smiles, planetoid sized people with huge buckets of full fat Coke and loads of able bodied lazy fuckers on rented mobility scooters; hacking their way through the crowds like the bulls in Pamplona.
But the best part of the day by far was when we were due to get off the car park transfer at Hollywood Studios. We started to slow down and the cheesy American voice announced that we were to disembark on the right.
No problem.
She then re-confirmed it was on the right.
Ok, fair enough.
Then she re-re-confirmed it was on the right.
Really? I suppose this is for the American market.
She then said “that’s the same side as the sidewalk and the trash cans”
I think my I.Q. just dropped a few points.
Only Once A Millennium
Today is 12/12/12.
Worth a mention.
Bathroom Rage!
On our drive from Miami to Orlando we decided to stop off at a service station to stretch our legs, although we all knew that the real reason was the driver’s need for nicotine and caffeine. He was threatening to get a little punchy, and no-one wanted that from the man with his feet on the pedals.
We parked up, got out, stretched our legs and proceeded into the air conditioned building filled with far too many kids bereft of guardians.
As our driver made a beeline for Dunkin’ Donuts, I decided to visit the toilet as I’d had a dull ache in my stomach since breakfast that indicated the approach of my own Dunkin’ Donut.
I looked for the restrooms, or washrooms, or bathrooms, despite there not being a bathtub in sight nor anywhere to sit and rest.
Well, that’s not entirely true, so I found an empty stall. I cautiously peered inside and found nothing that resembled an explosion at the Cadbury factory, so I confidently stepped inside and locked the door behind me; not that it mattered considering I could still be seen by anyone walking past. More on this shortly.
I lowered the toilet seat and, yes you guessed it, it was covered in delightful drops of yellow. Why do people use the stalls to have a piss when there are loads of urinals? It’s selfish to those needing to cut off some bum rope as it’s not like we can cop a squat in a urinal is it? If you absolutely HAVE to use the stall at least lift the seat, or get a better aim, or a longer penis.
It was at this point I let out a very audible sigh which would usually cause others, who were possibly resting or bathing, to wonder what I was doing in there.
Not in America.
No, in America the toilet cubicles have a gap between the stall and the door, ranging from half an inch to something you could easily push a cat through. This means the world can see you trembling one out with your dignity around your ankles.
I decided to make the best of a bad situation and grabbed a handful of toilet paper and wiped the seat as dry as possible. Then, with military precision, I started to cover the offending plastic horseshoe with enough streams of toilet paper to make a mummy think “steady on”. This went on for at least 2 to 3 minutes until I was satisfied I wouldn’t come in contact with any part of the seat.
I sat down, facing the ill conceived grand canyon gap and looked out for any peeping toms or cats. Once I was satisfied that no-one gave a shit, I decided that maybe it was time I did. My stomach was still feeling uncomfortable and there was no telling when the next pit stop would be.
The time had come for my big performance.
Here we go.
-fart-
Dammit.
False alarm.
Oh well, I’ll have a piss instead…but I don’t want to touch the underside of this seat so I’ll just leave it down.
Oops.
Cuba stard! Pt. 3
This is a follow on from the last two entries.
It just gets better and better.
We land in Nassau 25 minutes late and taxi to the gate. So far so good(ish); I can probably still make my flight.
Then, stop.
There’s an issue with getting the walkway up to the plane door, so we stand there and we wait for another 15 minutes. I’m getting worried now; my connecting flight leaves in 45 minutes!
We finally get off the plane and I power walk towards the baggage claim area like a man possessed, through the newly built wing of the airport.
Then, stop.
The security doors are locked and neither of the security staff can open them with their electronic flashy beepy key card passes. Shit! We stand there for another 10 minutes while someone goes and gets what’s called a ‘key’, and hey presto, the door opens! Magical!
With only 35 minutes until my flight, I hit a full sprint…which is great considering we were at the furthest gate from ANYWHERE!
The good news is that my bag is already there waiting for me at baggage claim, with an “oh there you are!” look on its face. Hooray! I grab it and run, with my case hopping from left wheel to right wheel in a manner threatening to capsize at any moment!
Then, stop.
A queue for customs. I bite the bullet and, whilst panting heavily and sweating like a whore in church, I ask the line of people if I can jump in front of them as I have a flight in 10 minutes. The woman at the front made it clear she was not happy by looking me up and down and scowling, but the customs lady heard me and beckoned me to go next. Ha! In your face scowling woman! The customs lady asked if I had any alcohol or cigarettes and then sent me on my way. I picked up the sprint where I left off and bolted through arrivals and out into the Bahamian air.
Whew! That is HOT!
No time to stop and catch some rays; I run into departures and straight up to the BahamasAir check-in desk, panting and wheezing like a priest on a whore.
Then, stop.
The flight is now closed.
Aaaaaaarrrrrgh!!!!!!
I pull out the big guns; giving the ultimate puppydog eyes, pleading and (which is what I think swung it for me), pointing out that it was THEIR flight that caused me to be late.
It worked and I got my boarding pass! She smiled and said, “now go to gate C51” like they do in the movies when they say “now go get her and tell her you love her!”. I ran my fastest run, knowing my beloved was waiting with wings open wide.
Interestingly, US customs and immigration was a breeze….and unexpected as I thought I would get it at the other end, not in Nassau. Oh well, less hassle in Florida I guess.
I then continued to run; my lungs bursting with the fast pumping of oxygen passing through them.
I can see the Departures board. It’s just up ahead! I’m nearly there! It’s gonna happen! This journey from Satan is almost at an end!
…
…
Flight delayed for 45 minutes.
I stood there, looking up at the screen, dripping with sweat, panting so hard that nearby kids were passing out from oxygen deficiency, and I could only do one thing.
I laughed.
I mean I really laughed out loud.
The family next to me were shielding their children from the strange laughing man, but I didn’t care. I just stood there and let out a big hearty laugh.
Brilliant. I couldn’t have ended this story any better. Irony had handed me the perfect conclusion to this episode of my journey.
Looking around me I suddenly realised I was technically in the States; there was a Wendy’s, a Quiznos, a Dunkin’ Donuts and more. But best of all, I was just happy that everything was clean, shiny and air-conditioned. I ventured into the toilet and there weren’t shit spattered bowls, piss covered floors and water-free taps.
Heaven.
I can wait 45 minutes. After all, I’ve got to get my breath back.
Cuba stard! Pt. 2
How’s this for some scary shit?
I go to check in at Havana airport only to be told that, as I’m going onto the United States, I need to show my completed ESTA (which I don’t have on me mainly because I wasn’t told I needed it as it was all authorised and approved online), Otherwise i cant leave Cuba.
What.
The.
Fuck??
He asks if I can get it up on my iPhone, but I have no Internet and he was less than willing to allow me to access the Internet from a computer in the entire airport. I mean, how crap is that?
Anyway, after much pleading and my best puppydog eyes, he directs me to the BahamasAir office so I can go onto one of their PCs and show them my ESTA online.
I leave the coolness of the terminal, adopting the briskest walk I have, and into the sauna known as Cuba. Then, with heavy suitcase and hand luggage, I climb the stairs to the first floor office.
That was fun.
I eventually find the office which doesn’t have any signs on it and there’s a bitter old lady sat behind a desk who demands to know what I want. I tell her. She seems annoyed that I’ve interrupted her work and beckons me over. As I get nearer I see she’s on Facebook.
Perfect.
Anyway, I access my details (on the ESTA, not Facebook), and she looks at it over her glasses like my old maths teacher used to do. She then writes a compliment slip out for me to take back to check-in to say I do actually have an approved ESTA. Then she suggests I get lost, which sounds sexier in Spanish somehow. With foresight I take a couple of photos of the computer screen as I don’t need a repeat of this in both Nassau and Florida!
I lug my heavy case back down the stairs, through the heat and crowds and back to check-in. The clerk looks at the slip, smiles and then asks if I have confirmation of my flight out of the US, otherwise I can’t leave Cuba.
Are you kidding me?? I swear these people really want me to stay!
No, I don’t have the confirmation of the flight back to the UK as it was being booked this week back in England whilst the girlfriend and I were sunning ourselves in Cuba.
A few more puppydog eyes later I finally get my boarding pass and I’m allowed airside by the (ahem) ‘pleasant and friendly’ immigration staff, and security staff, and just staff generally. Gosh darn it they’re SO friendly.
To top it all off, the flight is now going to be leaving about 40 minutes late as they’ve only just started boarding; 15 minutes after it was due to actually take off! So I’m probably going to miss my connection.
Excellent.
I really am going to miss this place.
Cuba stard! Pt. 1
So I’m at José Martí airport, terminal 2, waiting for my flight to Nassau, which will connect with my flight to Florida. It’s about a million degrees in the shade and I’m melting because I’ve just spent the last 40 minutes in a custom made metal box with no air, or as the Cubans call it, a ‘taxi’.
I walk through the massive sweaty chattering crowd outside the terminal and peer inside.
It’s empty. I mean there’s no-one but check in staff and an old guy at the entrance with a walkie talkie who just asked if I’m flying today. I guess the huge suitcase and heavy hand luggage I was struggling with wasn’t enough of a clue.
Anyway, he waves me through and I enter the air conditioned bliss.
I look at the screen above every check in desk and they read ‘Miami’. I didn’t think you could fly direct from Cuba to the United States, and yet here is proof that I was wrong. It’s at this point I’m filled with joy and appreciation for my indirect flights (wipes away tears of sarcasm).
So I start looking for screens that say Nassau but none of them do. I then realise I’m 20 minutes early. Better than being late I guess, but hey, at least I’m nice and cool. I’ll just find somewhere to sit in the massive empty terminal building, away from the sweat and noise of the mob outside. Why are they all standing out there anyway? It’s better in here, where it’s cool and fresh and, hey…there’s nowhere to sit! What the hell?
I decide to stand, even though it’s really my only choice other than laying down and airports don’t like it when you do that.
After a few minutes the old guy, lets call him Jobésworth Cuntos, comes over and asks me again which flight I’m on.
I tell him….again.
He then says I have to wait outside, or something to that effect as it mostly consisted of stern jibberjabber and waving his walkie talkie towards the door.
Well, that explains the angry mob outside.
Hang on, this building is empty and can easily accommodate the wilting passengers outside, three times over. So me being me I challenge him.
“But it’s really hot out there!”, I say, pointing outside and then tugging on my t-shirt collar with my index finger to indicate that it’s hot out there.
Stern jibberjabber, walkie talkie waving.
“And it’s nice and cool in here”, I continue, pointing first at the floor to indicate I mean ‘in here’, and then fanning myself with my hand and giving him the thumbs up.
Jibberjabber; waving.
What an arsehole. No wonder people out here are getting increasingly pissed off. All that air-conditioning is going to waste, not helped by Jobésworth here standing in the open sliding doorway causing it to remain open. Or maybe that’s just his way of showing us how empty and cold it is inside; a lot like him actually.
It seems that in Cuba, those who earn power get respect, those who are given power, work at the airport.
I’m not looking forward to meeting the rest of the Cuntos family who no doubt work at customs and immigration in Florida.
Funny, on the hole….
“Oh no!” I hear my girlfriend cry from behind me in our Cuban hotel room.
I turn around, fearing the worst; “what is it?”
“There’s a hole in my beach bag!” she says, poking her finger through the hole just so it’s clear there’s definitely a hole.
“Oh no, where did that come from?”
She pauses.
“Tesco”
I laughed all the way to breakfast.
How the other side flies
One of the perks of working in the travel industry, other than cheap holidays, is the opportunity to upgrade on a flight for free. One of the great things that comes with a flight upgrade is the opportunity to get access to the special airport lounges.
Guess where I am right now.
There are a few things I’ve noticed that I’d like to share…
Firstly, I’ve noticed how I carry myself at all times when I know I’ve got an upgrade; head high, acting like I do this all the time, saying thank you instead of cheers…general full on twat behaviour.
Secondly, I feel like I’m undercover and at any moment I’ll be ‘found out’ by the actual paying poshies as a fraud and poshly thrown out. This doesn’t go away even though we know the people at the welcome desk to the lounge who are happy for us that we got free access. Somehow I still feel the eyes of the wealthy boring through my disguise to the pauper underneath.
And let me talk a little about these creatures of affluence; these money drenched drips. There’s a certain kind of style of person that you only find in special flight lounges, and possibly at posh horse racing events. They tend to wear clothing ne’er seen in high street shops, but rather at boutiques named after other priggish pricks with equally pompous names like ‘Whittingtons’, ‘Bletherington Smythe’ or ‘Turtle Kuntz’.
Here are some examples:
Women
– Big fur hats, not unlike those worn by Russian Kossaks, or the guards at Buckingham Palace. It resembles a large sticky doughnut that’s been rolled in King Kong’s pubic hair.
– A poncho/pashmina/tablecloth made of Balinese silk woven by free range gibbons fed on unicorn meat and fairy urine. As a result it costs more than my entire holiday and makes them look like a walking table.
– Huge sunglasses, and I mean ‘make you look like a wasp’ big! They usually have a massive D&G logo on the side, presumably to strengthen the frames to keep their massive fat heads from hitting the edges of doorways.
– Multiple scarves, usually made of satin, with designs ranging from anchors and ropes, to zebras and various animal prints…or are they the actual animals? Probably.
– Hair from 80’s porn.
Men
– Jumper over a shirt
Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Oh, and leather pads on the elbows of whatever they’re wearing.
There’s just not enough denim going on.
Still, as I was once told, even the queen has to poo from time to time and it reminds me that these people are, after all, just people like you and me (except with helicopters, swimming pools and under stairs staff on hand to wipe their bums). This became a harsh reality when I used the toilet and had that unnerving sensation of the seat still being warm from the last bum to have graced this porcelain throne.
(Shudder)
I must admit I was tempted to stand up and look in the toilet to see if they really did shit money, but then I realised they’d probably flushed it away, or bought duty free with it.
I wonder who wiped them today?
Hmm…
Anyway, all of this, and I mean every little bit if it, is tolerable because after all….I don’t turn right when I get on board the plane today 😉
Fat headed statement
Sorry, just heard the dumbest comment from a girl on the train talking to her boyfriend about a diet she’s going to go on in which you eat a lot of fat.
Him – “you eat a lot of fat?”
Her – “yeah, apparently it’s really good for you because if you eat a lot of fat your body won’t start eating away at your own fat”.
Oh my good god. What a total twat.
Had to share.
The weight of waiting.
Standing on the platform waiting for the platform number to be announced for the train we’re all waiting for, despite the fact that we all know its the train in front of us on platform 19. So here we all stand, adamant we have the right train, but unmoving until its made official in bright orange letters on the black backed information board.
And we wait.
And wait.
And we start shuffling around, checking the boards for other platforms in case we might’ve been wrong, even though we know its the one sitting at platform 19. It’s always platform 19.
It’s approaching 5 minutes late now and we’re all getting fidgety, especially as the train at platform 19 has just been vacated by a sea of people with expressions ranging from beaming smiles, to smacked arse.
And we continue to wait.
People are now starting to call friends and family to loudly announce how late they’re going to be, and to dramatically describe the inconvenience it’s causing them.
One guy in particular gets my attention, mostly because he’s stood right in front of me, but also due to the nature of the conversation I can hear at this end. He clearly has a suspicious and untrusting partner on the end of the line.
“Hi it’s me”
“Yeah I’m still here waiting for the 18:02 but its not here yet”
“Yeah I’m stood right in front of it, and it’s not here so I’m going to be late”
“Well I don’t know”
“How can I if there’s no train?”
“I’m telling you, I’m AT the station and there’s no train announced yet”
“Honestly, there really isn’t!”
“I don’t know (sighs), when I get there. I’ll text you when I leave”
“I will!”
“No idea, they haven’t told us anything”
“There’s no-one around to ask”
“I don’t know”
“I said I have no idea; we’re all waiting for the boards to say which platform”
“I AM on the platform, but we’re waiting for it to come up”
“Ok”
“Ok”
“I’m sorry”
“I said I’m sorry”
“Bye”
Jesus!
He’s got a great Friday night to look forward to.
The train is finally announced.
Platform 17.
Snot Funny!
I saw the funniest thing the other day. I was going to blog about it there and then, but I wasn’t at a computer, my phone was low on battery and….to be honest….I couldn’t be arsed. But now, having remembered this thing from the other day that, until now, I’d forgotten about….AND the fact that I can now be arsed, here’s what I saw.
There were three guys walking along, cutting through a car park near the train station, chatting away to each other. The guy at the back was saying something when the guy in the middle sneezed. Now, that doesn’t seem unusual or ‘blogworthy’ I admit, but it was the way in which he did it.
Firstly, it wasn’t a typical ‘Ah-choo!’. It kicked off with an incredibly loud noise that could only be described as a cross between the words ‘ear’ and ‘air’; let’s call it ‘eair’. He then didn’t do the ‘choo’ bit, instead blasting snot and nostril detritus through his nose and closed mouth, resulting in a sort of ‘thplrrp”.
So, in conclusion, ‘Ah-choo’ was in fact ‘EAIR! Thplrrp!’. Got it?
But it doesn’t end there.
The ‘EAIR!’ was what attracted my attention to them, but it was the ‘Thplrrp!’ that made me laugh. This is because the sneezer turned to face his talking mate, mid-sneeze, and proceeded to offload his nasal explosion all over his chest.
‘EAIR!’ Turn. ‘THPLRRP!’
His talking mate added in “oh, cheers mate!”, at which point the sneezer simply turned back and very audibly chuckled; “heh heh heh…”
But what made it so funny is the fact that:
a) It didn’t seem out of place or unusual to them
b) The guy in front didn’t even turn around
c) They didn’t even stop walking
This could only happen with blokes.
Hilarious.
Head In A Blender 