Posts from January 2009

Last Friday, I found myself standing in a short queue at Newcastle airport. I could immediately discern that the global economic recession is starting to take hold up in the bleak, industrial North. Normally, at this time, Newcastle airport is packed with hordes of Geordie holidaymakers bound for the Mediterranean and beer swilling lads in Newcastle football shirts going on a, err, cultural visit to Prague.

However, to my surprise, last Friday, the airport was eerily quiet. No queue for the self-service kiosk. No queue to check the bag, No queue to enter the security area. No snaking queues with temporary barriers to navigate. No smiling, happy, expectant people discussing their fourth overseas holiday of the year.

In fact, just a scattering of tired, emotional businessmen, pilots and aircrew passing their bags, belts and shoes through the security scanner.

As usual, I go to grab my laptop off the conveyor belt and hope my trousers don't fall down. The vigilant lady says 'Brian - get that bag'. I sigh as Brian says 'Excuse me, Sir - is this your bag ?' I own up and he starts to pull out the various adapters, wires, power supplies and cables. He looks towards the vigilant lady. 'Is it this lot ?' 'No - it's round, circular'.

Brian delves further into the tardis that is my Targus laptop bag. To my horror, he drags out an empty bag of 'Liquorice Twists' and a copy of 'Oracle Magazine' that I nicked from work. A pretty lady dressed in a nice trouser suit looks dismissively at me while she puts her shoes back on. I feel myself start to redden. It gets worse as I realise my trousers have fallen down.

And, finally, Brian finds it. He triumphantly pulls out a roll of Sellotape. I have carted this all around Europe and the UK in the forlorn hope that I would somehow summon up the enthusiasm to do my expenses in a lonely hotel room. But, of course, I never did.

Vigilant lady scowls: 'Yeah - that's it, Brian.' Brian then quickly places the almost full roll of high quality Sellotape into an unseen drawer. 'Sorry, Sir but I am going to have to confiscate that item.'

'Are you serious ? I have lugged that Sellotape all around Europe for two years and never been challenged once. In any case, how will I do my expenses now. You must know that staples are explicitly not allowed by Section 3.1.2a of the expenses policy. And before you say it, nor is Blu-Tac.'

'Sorry, Sir but I must confiscate this item in the interests of security.'

'Come on - at least tell me why.'

Vigilant lady momentarily takes her eagle eyes off the camera and spits out: 'Because, Sir, that item could be used as a restraining device on the aircraft. That is why.'

So, next time, you're on a plane and your neighbour reaches for the overhead locker and pulls out a roll of Sellotape - be frightened, be afraid, be very afraid because he isn't going to simply update his holiday scrapbook.

That manic psychopath is going to bind and gag you; he is going to wrap you up tight like an Egyptian Mummy; he is going to wrap you up like a Christmas present from your mother-in-law (with no air-holes).

Then, he is going to wield you in front of him, advancing forward through the plane from your aisle seat in 23C, brandishing a roll of Sellotape. He will then ignore the screams of passengers and break into the cabin, demanding the immediate release of political prisoners in Guantanamo Bay and that the plane diverts to Tehran immediately with a press conference on arrival or you are going to get it !

With the heavy duty duct tape.

Or as New Order once sang In a lonely place.

Much has been made of Rafa Benitezs so-called rant against Alex Ferguson. Of course, Benitez is correct for the most part but the most amusing part was when he pulled out a sheet of A4 with the charge sheet.

Benitez is pretty new to this game and he would have been better advised to speak out after Liverpool had won 4-0 extending their lead and avoiding the use of the phrase 'mind games' - particularly when he's not getting involved in them. Supposedly.

Instead, look at Liverpool's performance and result at the weekend (stuttering 0-0 draw at Stoke) and compare and contrast with United's performance (convincing 3-0 win over Chelsea). Now who looks an idiot ?

Of course, Alex Ferguson's just as bad - he is similarly obsessive and keeps his own little black books. When asked for his reaction to Benitez's press conference, he also rose to the bait, claiming Benitez was 'disturbed' and you had to ignore the 'venom'.

How much better would a simple reply of 'You know what - I poured out another glass of red wine, sat back and just smiled' ?

Anyway, to yesterday's game and Jamie Carragher. He looked decidedly uncomfortable being asked about United's best performance of the season and he looked distinctly uneasy when asked about Benitez's quotes but what do you expect ?

Would Gary Neville have taken money to go to Anfield to be a pundit on a crucial Liverpool game and run the risk of having to awkwardly praise his hated rivals ? I sincerely doubt it.

Anyway, the most telling remark was when Liverpool's vice-captain was asked: 'So you think Liverpool will be involved in the final weeks to decide the Championship ?'

A easy, weak, typically banal question to close the show. Jamie Carragher just needed to say 'Yeah - we are top. We are playing well. We have the points on the board. Games in hand don't always mean points. We have already beaten United and Chelsea and they all have to catch us.'

But he didn't. He said:

'Yes. Hopefully.'

Will this prove to be Carragher''s Gallas moment ?

Recently I collected Norma-Jean from one of her hobbies. As we departed, I stopped to bid farewell to a couple of boys who were preparing to cycle home: See you next time, lads.

'Dad - why did you have to say goodbye to those boys ?'

'Well I see them here twice a week so I was just being friendly...'

'God - that was so embarrassing. I actually thought you were going to say 'Cheerio' as usual'.

There followed a brief discussion on the list of all possible farewell greetings and the acceptability of each. Then we reached the car. She put her iPod on, I listened to the radio and the matter was closed.

Until the following week. We left the sports centre where the same two lads were unlocking their bikes. I paused. My daughter stopped and looked at me in stupefied horror as I waited for the lads' full attention.

'Laterz'

This week, I have been working in Bergen, near Norway. Normally, I view my trips to major European cities simply as a means to end and after a while they all tend to blur into one unified major European city. Same hotel room, same office, different people, same problems, same computers, same restaurants with the same cashless transaction mechanism.

Bergen, however, is different. The city is just beautiful. I love it. Mountains, water, snow, history. Just stunning. If I didn't have ties, I think I would seriously considering moving here full-time.

Although I flew out to Bergen on Sunday night on a direct flight from Gatwick, limited availability meant I had to return via Schipol. My latest commuting story begins at Bergen airport...

'Hi - do you think I should check this bag or carry it on the plane ?'

'Its entirely up to you, Sir. I can check your bag all the way through to London.'

'OK. Great. So you're promising me that when I reach Heathrow, my bag will also get there.'

'Well, we can only hope so, Sir.'

'OK. Thanks. I'll check it into the hold.'

'As you wish, Sir. Now, is there any way someone could have interfered with this bag or placed items in it without your knowledge ?'

'Well, we can only hope not.'

As soon as the words left my mouth, I immediately felt a pang of regret, a twinge of remorse at cracking such a weak joke. This sense of regret turned into blind panic, and total fear 10 minutes later when I found myself in a windowless room, buried deep in the bowels of Bergen airport.

'Henrick, some new latex gloves, please. Now, Sir, please to be bending over.'

Anyway, after enduring the rather extended, lengthy and, err, in-depth security checking procedure, I arrived in Amsterdam and managed to navigate from C15 to D24 without further incident. It was quite easy. You just move your Knight twice and castle on the Kings' side.

Irritatingly, there was yet another lightweight security check at the entrance to gate D24. This took forever as the entire population of China was on this short hop to London and were carrying suitcases, coats, souvenirs, carrier bags, duty free goods and small, colourful birds onto the plane rather than use the hold for some reason.

After waiting 25 minutes in the lengthy queue, I didn't really want to be told rather disdainfully by the security guard: 'Sir, are you aware you need to at the gate 30 minutes prior to departure ?'

'Yes - I am well aware of that. I was actually here at the gate 45 minutes prior to departure but are you aware I have been standing in line for 25 minutes because you are so flipping slow ?'

Finally, I clear security and stand in yet another queue to board the plane. My boarding card says I am right at the front handily positioned in seat 2C in the luxury of business class.

Normally, I travel economy which is fair enough as the customer is paying and the flights are only short hops within Europe. The business travel flight booking system is similar to the Lottery Balls Selector. You never quite know how it is programmed or what results it will produce. Nor can you ever question its decision which is final. However, for some reason, on this return trip to Bergen, the random business travel flight booking system has elected to book me into business class on both legs.

In fact, on the outward journey from Gatwick, this was a little embarrassing. I was the only passenger on a half-empty plane so I was privileged enough to have the sole, exclusive, undivided attention of one, pretty air hostess all to myself.

Every 30 seconds, she would appear with a beaming smile: 'Champagne, Sir ?, 'Hot towel, Sir ?', 'Another drink, Sir ?', 'Pretzels, Sir ?', 'Hot meal, Sir ?', 'Newspaper, Sir ?, 'Could I offer you a beer perhaps, Sir ?' God, it was never ending. It was eerily reminiscent of the 'Not The Nine O'Clock News' sketch where Pamela Stephenson invites an American Express customer 'Would you like to put your head between them and go 'Bubble, bubble bubble ?'. Almost but not quite.

I finally enter the plane and look at seat 2C which, oddly enough is on the first row. However, this means there is no hook on which to hang my coat and there is some metal fixture preventing me placing my laptop under my seat. I start to panic and look towards the overhead lockers. Inevitably, as this flight is completely full, so are the overhead lockers.

There is a hanging cupboard to my right where coats and overflow luggage has been stowed with some spare capacity so I quickly remove my coat. In my rush, I forget that I am wired into my iTouch and the my earphones are pulled out of my ears leaving wires dangling everywhere. A helpful Dutch Gentleman interjects:

'Excuse me - but your ears are on the floor.'

Quick as a flash, I reply: 'Hey come on, My ears are pretty big but they don't reach down that far.' He laughs. Nervously. The air stewardess is now desperately trying to close the flight and do the very important passenger count (2-4-8-11-15-17, doh, 2-4-8). She looks my way and enquires: 'Excuse me, Sir but is that your laptop ?'. As I am still embroiled in the continuing, unarmed struggle to disentangle my ears from the iTouch and my coat, I look over and nod.

'Well I am sorry, Sir, but you have placed your laptop on top of the the defibrillator so I will just have to find another place for it.' Her tone implied I had committed a capital offence and I honestly feared she was going to place my Lenovo T61 on the left wing of the aircraft.

Finally, we sit down to be told in two languages (but not Chinese) that the rush to board was all for nothing as now there is a small problem with the navigation system which the engineer is coming fix and then 'we will be on our way, flying to London'.

Time passes - we listen to music, we read papers, we look out of the window looking for a laptop bag. An engineer in blue overalls arrives and leaves, laughing and joking. I think I heard him say to the first officer: 'Yes - if it happens again during the flight just reboot it.'

The smooth talking pilot announces: 'Ladies and gentlemen, the navigation system is now fully operational so we will just have a 10 minute taxi to the runway and we will on on our way.'

I must have dozed off, tired after 4 days of intense work and a night in a Bergen sports bar, drinking expensive Norwegian lager, watching United somehow contrive to lose to a Championship side.

When I awoke, I stretched out, looked at my watch and glanced out of the window to find we have arrived in London. I must have slept so soundly I had even missed the descent and more importantly, my complimentary bread roll, metal cutlery and glass of wine.

I unbuckled my seat belt when my well spoken neighbour informed me: 'We are still at Schipol. We haven't taken off yet. There is a problem de-icing the plane.'

I buckled up again, grunted my appreciation and put wires into my oversized ears. Eventually, another engineer popped down to the aircraft equivalent of Halfords, a fresh aerosol can of de-icer arrived and we taxied to join the rear of a lengthy queue of large aircraft waiting to depart to various destinations.

Finally, we took off and I was able to enjoy my bread roll and glass of wine. I arrived in London just an hour late. So did my bag and I got home at 10:30pm - a full seven and a half hours after I had left Bergen.