And we're off! Well, nearly.....
Friday 20th October.
Pat on the back for me! I managed to get up and organised for my flight in plenty time. Supposed to meet Josh for breakfast at the Irish Village but there was a crash and a monster traffic jam. Unbelievable, even at 7am on a Friday morning I got stuck in traffic.
I bet all the girls to the airport and lo and behold all the computers were down and no-one knew where they were going or what they were doing. Queued an hour which was hard work when all I really wanted to do was lie down, crawl into a ball and sleep.
Luckily in my hangover haze I managed to find the right check in place and got thru ok. My fabby new e-gate card didn’t work again but amazingly they still let me thru. How does that work then? I have a card with my fingerprints on it to let me in and out of the country quickly but the fingerprint reading machine rejects my fingerprint telling them it’s not me - and yet they still let me through anyway. Fab security.
I wonder if when I get back they will let me in. The machine might say that I hadn’t left the country.
Cool, I will just call my boss and say I am really still there.
So skipped through immigration not being me and met Josh for a quick hello and goodbye at Costa as he had to run to catch his flight. I ordered a very strong, very sweet, coffee and then pottered about zombie like waiting for the rest of my holiday gaggle of girls to catch up. The airport was packed. Everyone must be going away for Eid hols.
I wasn’t the only bleary eyed morning after the night before casualty. As I wandered thru I caught several sympathy glances and knowing nods on the way. Of course our departure lounge was the furthest away but even wobbling at a snails pace up there the girls still didn’t catch up.
I just thought they were just buying the whole of the duty free and enjoyed not having to make the effort to string words together and make whole sentences that made sense.
The flight started boarding and still no sign of my holiday buddies. I started to twitch in my seat. I was asked to board and I said I had to wait for my friends.
When I was the last one left in the lounge I was politely told that it was really time to board now. So off I went thinking I was going to Cyprus by myself at this point. Last glance over my shoulder and still no sign of them and no-one answering their mobiles.
On the plane surrounded by three empty seats and convinced by now that I was going alone, I finally got them on the phone and was told Yvie wasn’t coming! Oh God, someone has died or daft mare, she forgot her passport….
Nope. Once SQ and the V finally got onboard SQ told me with wee teary eyes that Yvie had needed a visa after all. She had called and asked the British Embassy and they said she didn’t. But the jumped up little shit at the airport said she did and offloaded both their bags.
Bastard. Protected British passports do not need a visa to Cyprus. But Indian girls do. He made his decision on looks instead of regulations.
Bastard. I truly believe in the Universal law of tenfold. He’ll get his Yvie, don’t you worry huney. Its out there circling round waiting to bite him on the bum just when he needs it.
So great start. Left Yvie behind and SQ had no suitcase.
So it was hard to get excited on the plane coz we were all in a bit of a downer. But I did have to seriously try and suppress the giggle monster out of guilt for having fun without Yvie there after the following conversation with Suzie Q.
SQ said looking at the young good looking hostie boy and raising her eyebrows “Mmm he is OK”.
I said “nah he’s too young pet” and continued reading my book.
SQ frowned and said “too young”?
This boy looked about 21 years old so I looked at her strangely thinking she had suddenly developed a cradle snatching fetish.
So I said firmly “Yeah huney he’s way too young, well for me anyway, but whatever takes your fancy huney”.
SQ said “I said – Mmm he is so gay!!”.
AAahh the powers of communication. Luv it.
So talking about which way the wind blew for this young boy strangely led onto the conversation about the Mile High Club.
I said “I’ve never got the big deal of joining the mile high club”
SQ “Why?”
Me “well I just don’t get how doing it in a filthy wee toilet 30,000 feet turns anyone on”
SQ shrugged.
Me, sensing there was more to the shrug than met the eye, “and anyway there’s always a queue, how the hell do you both manage to get in the loo, get amourous, stay amourous and finish being amourous (or words to that effect - hey my mum is reading this!)?”
SQ “well it’s like this……blah, blah, blah...... blah.
Well silly me. I now know exactly what I have to do next time…..
But what I really want to know now is, how the bloody hell does my good catholic Auntie know what to do........?
Pat on the back for me! I managed to get up and organised for my flight in plenty time. Supposed to meet Josh for breakfast at the Irish Village but there was a crash and a monster traffic jam. Unbelievable, even at 7am on a Friday morning I got stuck in traffic.
I bet all the girls to the airport and lo and behold all the computers were down and no-one knew where they were going or what they were doing. Queued an hour which was hard work when all I really wanted to do was lie down, crawl into a ball and sleep.
Luckily in my hangover haze I managed to find the right check in place and got thru ok. My fabby new e-gate card didn’t work again but amazingly they still let me thru. How does that work then? I have a card with my fingerprints on it to let me in and out of the country quickly but the fingerprint reading machine rejects my fingerprint telling them it’s not me - and yet they still let me through anyway. Fab security.
I wonder if when I get back they will let me in. The machine might say that I hadn’t left the country.
Cool, I will just call my boss and say I am really still there.
So skipped through immigration not being me and met Josh for a quick hello and goodbye at Costa as he had to run to catch his flight. I ordered a very strong, very sweet, coffee and then pottered about zombie like waiting for the rest of my holiday gaggle of girls to catch up. The airport was packed. Everyone must be going away for Eid hols.
I wasn’t the only bleary eyed morning after the night before casualty. As I wandered thru I caught several sympathy glances and knowing nods on the way. Of course our departure lounge was the furthest away but even wobbling at a snails pace up there the girls still didn’t catch up.
I just thought they were just buying the whole of the duty free and enjoyed not having to make the effort to string words together and make whole sentences that made sense.
The flight started boarding and still no sign of my holiday buddies. I started to twitch in my seat. I was asked to board and I said I had to wait for my friends.
When I was the last one left in the lounge I was politely told that it was really time to board now. So off I went thinking I was going to Cyprus by myself at this point. Last glance over my shoulder and still no sign of them and no-one answering their mobiles.
On the plane surrounded by three empty seats and convinced by now that I was going alone, I finally got them on the phone and was told Yvie wasn’t coming! Oh God, someone has died or daft mare, she forgot her passport….
Nope. Once SQ and the V finally got onboard SQ told me with wee teary eyes that Yvie had needed a visa after all. She had called and asked the British Embassy and they said she didn’t. But the jumped up little shit at the airport said she did and offloaded both their bags.
Bastard. Protected British passports do not need a visa to Cyprus. But Indian girls do. He made his decision on looks instead of regulations.
Bastard. I truly believe in the Universal law of tenfold. He’ll get his Yvie, don’t you worry huney. Its out there circling round waiting to bite him on the bum just when he needs it.
So great start. Left Yvie behind and SQ had no suitcase.
So it was hard to get excited on the plane coz we were all in a bit of a downer. But I did have to seriously try and suppress the giggle monster out of guilt for having fun without Yvie there after the following conversation with Suzie Q.
SQ said looking at the young good looking hostie boy and raising her eyebrows “Mmm he is OK”.
I said “nah he’s too young pet” and continued reading my book.
SQ frowned and said “too young”?
This boy looked about 21 years old so I looked at her strangely thinking she had suddenly developed a cradle snatching fetish.
So I said firmly “Yeah huney he’s way too young, well for me anyway, but whatever takes your fancy huney”.
SQ said “I said – Mmm he is so gay!!”.
AAahh the powers of communication. Luv it.
So talking about which way the wind blew for this young boy strangely led onto the conversation about the Mile High Club.
I said “I’ve never got the big deal of joining the mile high club”
SQ “Why?”
Me “well I just don’t get how doing it in a filthy wee toilet 30,000 feet turns anyone on”
SQ shrugged.
Me, sensing there was more to the shrug than met the eye, “and anyway there’s always a queue, how the hell do you both manage to get in the loo, get amourous, stay amourous and finish being amourous (or words to that effect - hey my mum is reading this!)?”
SQ “well it’s like this……blah, blah, blah...... blah.
Well silly me. I now know exactly what I have to do next time…..
But what I really want to know now is, how the bloody hell does my good catholic Auntie know what to do........?
posted by Nikki @ 8:23 AM
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