Sitting in the airport yesterday waiting for the plane I looked around at all the cool people playing on their mobile phones.
Than I opened up my Facebook feed to read that many of you share my views about the day of travel. I then realised that all the cool people might do so as well and they're just better at looking cool than me.
I like to break the journey into bits or parts. That way I can cross them off as they finish and are achieved if that's the word I'm looking for.
Part one - home to railway station. Bags and passengers dropped off, car driven to youngest son's for the week. Even cars need a holiday. Last time this one had a holiday we returned to find a flat battery and cracked windscreen. Brisk walk back to railway station. Check
Part two - Wymondham to Cambridge. That's Cambridge and not Cambridge North. The lady on the intercom managed to continually mention Cambridge. " This is the train for Cambridge calling at Cambridge North and Cambridge, " she announced as we left Waterbeach which is a new stop for us as the train usually goes straight to Cambridge from Ely. And how resplendent Ely looked as the sun came out. The cathedral high on a hill and the lovely waterfront which obviously wasn't high on a hill, a hill that didn't have a lonely goatherd. "Next stop Cambridge, this is the train for Cambridge stopping at Cambridge," twittered the announcer. Journey to Cambridge, Check.
Part three - Cambridge to Gatwick Airport clutching the largest and hottest takeaway coffee ever. Train pulls in, we get on and spread ourselves out and enjoy the journey into London and out again. Time to relax for at least 90 minutes without worrying about getting through security. All too soon the journey ends and the train speeds on to Brighton. Brighton isn't really like Cambridge so isn't mentioned nearly as much. Check
Part Four - the airport. Gatwick isn't bad. It's certainly better than Stansted and Luton, two of my least favourite airports. No bags to check in so time for a pint whilst we surreptitiously eat our own sandwiches and satsumas (yes I did say satsumas). Then primary hate - airport security. Not too bad this time but the rules seem to change with the wind. Sometimes it's belts off, sometimes shoes off, sometimes one of them, sometimes neither. This time it was neither but coats off, laptops and e books out, keys out. Head spin coming... But we got through and there they were. Row upon row upon row of shops that you have to walk through. However many bottles of unbought and hyper expensive perfume are there in the world? bottles that will never be sold. Do bottles of perfume have a sell by date? What happens to the thousands that aren't bought and why don't they half the ridiculous prices and sell twice as many? Such are the questions that fly through my head. Avoid the shops by sitting down and refusing to go anywhere until the gate number is called. And there it is Gate 50. Now the joy of these gates is they give you your daily walk because most are miles away - well maybe not miles but certainly some distance. So here we are on the plane and all I can say is part four Check.
Part five - the flight. So now we are packed in like sardines. My muscles have had their daily workout lifting the case into the overhead locker. Nobody checked it's size so all those hours on the floor with a measuring tape and all those hours spent sitting on the bags to make them seem smaller have been wasted. Actually didn't sit on the bags but did measure them. And off we go. "Good afternoon this is your captain speaking. It's not a good day for you as today is my day for working from home. Have a nice trip." Actually that was a joke I heard on some advert or other. We had a real live captain on board, although I might just be assuming that. So with a whoosh we were off. I have done so many flights that I'm now very blase about them. But I remember how scary it was on my first flight when the plane built up such speed and then lifted off. I probably gripped the arms of my seat. Now we've been on so many long distance flights that one of just over three hours is a mere bagatelle ( no idea what that means but it's a saying I used to mean a piece of cake). So many options - read, have a sleep, stare aimlessly in space, do puzzles, write an opera, write a novel.
On long flights of course you get a full service of food, drink and entertainment. "We hope you have a great flight," says the man on the tannoy who has just told us what to do if we crash. It's a recorded message obviously as he's probably too scared to fly , having outlined what would happen if we hit the water. I love sentences that start with the words "in the unlikely event of." I want to talk infinitesimal chances rather than unlikely. England winning another cricket test in India is an unlikely event
There's a rumbling noise as the plane builds up speed. I mistake it for the opening bars of A Beautiful Noise by Neil Diamond. Give it a listen if you want to see what I mean.
I can't stop coughing due to the dry atmosphere in the cabin. So it's all slightly unpleasant. Good job we aren't on here for 18 hours. Must try to control my breathing and stay calm during the mucus barrage until it passes.
And it does pass, a can of coca cola helping and the rest of the flight passes fairly uneventfully, mainly because I do manage to have a snooze. And so here we are in Funchal and for those who that means little to it's on the Portuguese island of Madeira.
We have been here at least twice before and maybe three times. Sometimes memory plays tricks. Our first visit was either just before or just after we were married. We went with friends and stayed in a hotel. I believe I had a cold then too but the two things I remember mostly about that trip we're playing strange golf and watching a tie cut in half.
In those days there was a colonial club on the island where British tourists could take out temporary membership. it had a snooker room and a small golf course. I've never been good at golf as I'm always saying but this was the first time I ever hit the ball backwards. Of course I didn't actually hit it backwards, so let me explain.
One of the holes had three or four levels going upwards. At the back of a very small green was a stone wall. Up I strode and gave the ball a mighty whack. It bounced on the green, hit the back wall and descended down the next level and then the next level before hurtling past where I was standing and coming to rest in a flower bed some 50 yards behind me.
My second memory was going to a cabaret evening where the wearing of ties was compulsory. We were on a table at the front. The magician asked to borrow our friend's tie and in front of us cut it in two with a large and very sharp pair of scissors before doing some jiggery pockery (whatever that is) and presenting the tie back to said friend in one piece. I swear to this day that he cut it in half and no way was our friend and accomplice set up for the trick.
The second or third time we went to Madeira we went with eldest son. The Holiday Property Bond accommodation we stay in was at the top and highest point of the island. This time my main memory is of the day we couldn't sit on our balcony because we were in the clouds. It was very wet, clouds do appear to be wet if you are sitting in them.
But for now I can say part five check.
Part six getting through the airport - to be continued tomorrow.