I liked it though so I took a bloody picture of it.
This is weird because I didn't post the above. It appeared all by itself. What is Google up to? (I think we know It's up to no good.)
Monday 30 July 2012
I have no idea what this says.
I liked it though so I took a bloody picture of it.
This is weird because I didn't post the above. It appeared all by itself. What is Google up to? (I think we know It's up to no good.)
Hamburg Hamburg Hamburg
I've been here quite a lot over the last few months. I tend to fly out on Monday mornings. To do this I have to wake up at 5AM! I ask you. Anyway I stay out here until Thursday and then get the plane home in the evening. Then I do nothing all day on Friday.
So all in all it could be a lot worse.
So, rather like George Clooney in his madcap aeroplane film Up In The Air, I have developed a routine that gets me to the airport, through customs and onto the plane, quickly, efficiently and keeping contact with other human beings to a minimum.
I think we all know that airports are full of idiots. They mill around, stop suddenly, often hurtle, stand on moving walkways and block thoroughfares with their stupid luggage. Airports are, of course, a magnet for wheelie baggers. Wheelie baggers are all, it goes without saying, bastards but here are the worst ones.
Novice wheelie baggers:- They have either not been on holiday much, are very old or very young. Either way this is their first time with a wheelie bag and it shows. They have no driving skills and, despite its weight and the fact that it is actually attached to them via an arm and a hand (one of Mother Nature's most noticey of bodyparts), are completely unaware that they are dragging something the size of a hill behind them.
Child wheelie baggers:- Usually a tiny girl wheeling a pink wheelie bag just big enough to keep some air in. These ones are noisy, incredibley slow and completely unpredictable.
Camp wheelie baggers:- Usually businessmen. They are often of a stature I would refer to as dainty. They wear expensive suits and have the latest kit. Their wheelie bags are the size of a laptop with an extendable, slightly curved stick to pull it along with.
"What's the problem with them Andy, ya big homophobe?" I hear you ask.
"If they're dainty and their wheelie bags are small, they should be fine." You go on to opine.
Well you have a point. But what gets my goat is that
a) They could just pick the bloody thing up and tuck it under their arm.
b) We're in an airport. They're camp. Do you see? It's an impossibly glamorous place. Pilots in uniform, shops with shiny things in, heavenly scents and unguents, duty free iPads, lounges and and the possibility of sighting someone off of X-Factor. That's right. They don't know if they're coming or going. You can't blame them but they're wheeling all over the place, stopping abruptly, shrieking, darting hither and thither, Tweeting, Facebooking and generally getting in the way.
Anyway, I've gone off on a rant.
Print your boarding pass and fold it in half four times so that the QR code is on the outside. Put this in your passport. Put your passport in the back pocket of your jeans.
Ruthlessly edit your luggage until it all fits into a shoebox. I exaggerate of course. Just don't take much stuff and what little you do have put in a ruck sack. Leave all your coins at home. Have your toothpaste etc in a plastic bag at the top of your rucksack.
Get the Heathrow Exp. Walk all the way to the front. Most people just jump on at the end nearest the conkcourse, so if you take the trouble to stroll onward for 2 mins you get the whole of the front of the train to yourself.
Have a kip.
Jump off at Terminal 5. You will be opposite the Exit. Walk to the lifts. There will be a melee of cretins here from the train but they don't know where they're going so you should be able to jump into the lift before one manages to stop the door closing with their arm. like one of the quicker zombies you sometimes see in a zombie film when a potential flaw in the plot can only be averted by one of the zombies being significantly faster than every other zombie in the film.
Out of the lift like a jackrabbit. (to be conktinued...)
So all in all it could be a lot worse.
So, rather like George Clooney in his madcap aeroplane film Up In The Air, I have developed a routine that gets me to the airport, through customs and onto the plane, quickly, efficiently and keeping contact with other human beings to a minimum.
I think we all know that airports are full of idiots. They mill around, stop suddenly, often hurtle, stand on moving walkways and block thoroughfares with their stupid luggage. Airports are, of course, a magnet for wheelie baggers. Wheelie baggers are all, it goes without saying, bastards but here are the worst ones.
Novice wheelie baggers:- They have either not been on holiday much, are very old or very young. Either way this is their first time with a wheelie bag and it shows. They have no driving skills and, despite its weight and the fact that it is actually attached to them via an arm and a hand (one of Mother Nature's most noticey of bodyparts), are completely unaware that they are dragging something the size of a hill behind them.
Child wheelie baggers:- Usually a tiny girl wheeling a pink wheelie bag just big enough to keep some air in. These ones are noisy, incredibley slow and completely unpredictable.
Camp wheelie baggers:- Usually businessmen. They are often of a stature I would refer to as dainty. They wear expensive suits and have the latest kit. Their wheelie bags are the size of a laptop with an extendable, slightly curved stick to pull it along with.
"What's the problem with them Andy, ya big homophobe?" I hear you ask.
"If they're dainty and their wheelie bags are small, they should be fine." You go on to opine.
Well you have a point. But what gets my goat is that
a) They could just pick the bloody thing up and tuck it under their arm.
b) We're in an airport. They're camp. Do you see? It's an impossibly glamorous place. Pilots in uniform, shops with shiny things in, heavenly scents and unguents, duty free iPads, lounges and and the possibility of sighting someone off of X-Factor. That's right. They don't know if they're coming or going. You can't blame them but they're wheeling all over the place, stopping abruptly, shrieking, darting hither and thither, Tweeting, Facebooking and generally getting in the way.
Anyway, I've gone off on a rant.
Print your boarding pass and fold it in half four times so that the QR code is on the outside. Put this in your passport. Put your passport in the back pocket of your jeans.
Ruthlessly edit your luggage until it all fits into a shoebox. I exaggerate of course. Just don't take much stuff and what little you do have put in a ruck sack. Leave all your coins at home. Have your toothpaste etc in a plastic bag at the top of your rucksack.
Get the Heathrow Exp. Walk all the way to the front. Most people just jump on at the end nearest the conkcourse, so if you take the trouble to stroll onward for 2 mins you get the whole of the front of the train to yourself.
Have a kip.
Jump off at Terminal 5. You will be opposite the Exit. Walk to the lifts. There will be a melee of cretins here from the train but they don't know where they're going so you should be able to jump into the lift before one manages to stop the door closing with their arm. like one of the quicker zombies you sometimes see in a zombie film when a potential flaw in the plot can only be averted by one of the zombies being significantly faster than every other zombie in the film.
Out of the lift like a jackrabbit. (to be conktinued...)
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