Showing posts with label Stansted Express. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stansted Express. Show all posts

Wednesday, 30 March 2016

1 DAY , 2 FLIGHTS , 5 SHIT EXCUSES

07.55: Shit Excuse No. 1

The pilot’s taking on that smug 'aren’t I a star' tone of voice because he’s flown us to Stansted airport ten minutes quicker than he had to. You hear it first somewhere over Norfolk when he says "Cabin Crew prepare the cabin for arrival," with a slight lilt and rising intonation that actually says 'this really is a piece of piss you know.' By the time he orders the crew to "disarm doors for arrival” the smugness has blossomed into a full blown 'God, I’m good at this. Sometimes I surprise even myself.' 

But his next announcement is a little less triumphal. It transpires that, although he’s really rather fine, some of the people with whom he is forced to associate have failed to live up to his standards. Big time. The ground crew have been taken totally by surprise by his over performance, and are still trying to find a set of steps to get us off. So, through no fault of his own, we’re stuck, and the extra time generated by his flying prowess gradually wastes away as we stand in a line waiting with our coats on. All of which prompts a number of questions:


Tuesday, 23 February 2016

ANGEL ROAD

This morning I was sat next to a German couple on the Stansted Express. The guy, who was sitting opposite, was talking a lot. And in a way I was finding impossible to ignore. So I found myself listening to every word, even though I couldn’t decipher a single one. From his voice I formed a mental picture of him, and it was Christoph Waltz.

Eventually I looked up from my iPhone to sneak a proper look. And guess what, he looked exactly like Daniel Craig. For a moment I was terrified. Imagine that: the mind of Ernst Stavro Blofeld inside the body of James Bond. Retreating back into my phone, I wondered why I was instinctively afraid of Germans. Especially ones that looked like 007.