Into the Blue

The above is Malaga airport.

 

Bristol Airport, not on most people’s bucket list of ‘must see’ attractions.

From some angles its steel and glass and concrete resembles an aircraft carrier but without the charm or threat. What it lacked in aesthetics, it compensated for in function. Having had the fortune to be flying out on a Sunday, when flights are few, we were spared the horrors of the crush of the sweat stained, and beer soaked, cheap perfumed traveling public. We breezed through security with nary a nod to the terrorist threat.

Although, I did see someone with a fulsome beard carrying a rucksack. Turned out to be the headmistress of a local public school leading her petite charges on a school trip to Morocco to count hemp plants and other assorted ideologies.

Bristol has a ‘fast track option’ for security clearance, for a fee. So, if you want to minimise time spent waiting behind a fat farting peasant as he takes his sweat infested boots off for inspection, and you can’t stand the incessant chatter of two high maintenance baby dolls with faces constructed of enough plastic to build a Lego city, then pay your money…and fast track. How this works if everyone pays a fee and increases the size of the fast track queue will be managed by fee increases until you get to the point when the fast track clearance costs more than your ticket. We however, on a Sunday morning did not bother with this latest scam, and sail through the ordinary queue with not even a greased gloved finger waiting to search for hidden contraband about one’s person.

Ryanair offers priority boarding for another fee, this includes paying for putting your luggage in the hold. However, if you only have 1 bag and carry it to the gate, the staff will put it in the hold for free. So, again read the small print very carefully otherwise you will pay for something you don’t need. The boss of this world class air freight service, Micheal O’Leary, owns race horses. One of which won the Grand National, ‘Tiger Roll’. As a consequence, we were all treated to fizz on the plane, along with extra servings of fairy dust, magic spells and wishful thinking. I’m not sure what priority boarding gives you, except a light wallet. No one took off before us. In fact we all went together as a happy throng of innocents being led to an uncertain future in a pain wracked, war torn, plague ridden world. The onboard snacks were no better, offering as they do, the gastrointestinal equivalent of colonic irrigation.

With heavy threats of a rain front racing up the M5 from Cornwall, and the skies rapidly greying at the temples, we were launched upwards and outwards into the blue. Two young Spanish lads sitting in front of me started on the booze as soon as the seat belt light extinguished. They were cheerful about it and refrained from flatulence and vomiting, which, in a confined space with recirculating air, was a bonus. I then spent two happy hours with a couple from Truro discussing everything from the superiority of Philp’s pasties over Warren’s, the price of pasty meat and the husband’s military service as an engineer in the tank regiments. I was treated to the paucity of a modern English education, the Swindon fortnight holiday for railwaymen and the joys of old fashioned engineering. Ann, having been allocated a seat two rows behind was able to get into reading her book.

Upon landing, the sun threw itself at us, and as we disembarked down the rear steps, I glanced up to see the mountains of Andalucia sticking their jagged peaks up into blue heaven.

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