The first in an occasional series.
No. 1 - OReilly's in Brussels.
Difficult to find, particularly if you hold the street map upside down and wander aimlessly down dark, empty streets and end up in Schaerbeek.
Easy to find if you hold the map the right way up.
Stella - 4 Euro per pint. Lively pub. One big screen and several small screens dotted around. Plenty of seating available.
Blackburn 1 - MUFC 1 (Carling Cup Semi Final). Two superb goals. One melee involving Rooney.
On Wednesday, I found myself patiently waiting in a queue, talking with a nice lady from Toronto, to get through airport security at Heathrow Terminal 4. Nothing unusual there.
Although, for someone from London to exchange pleasantries with a complete stranger is a little unusual (but she started it).
However, on this occasion, only two X-ray machines were in use so the queue was a little longer than usual and slowly and relentlessly growing in length.
A BAA lady was monitoring the queue and, from time to time, would open up a barrier to allow economy passengers to join the Fast Track queue (much to the disgust of all the business people who had paid a premium specifically to clear the security checks quicker, avoid mixing with economy passengers, as they are in such a desperate hurry and are so important with their toy phones glued to their ears). This action would get smiles and thanks from those invited but would only provide a brief respite from the underlying problem.
The queue got longer. People got more disgruntled. One man walked to the head of the queue, presumably because his flight was imminent. People grumbled under their breath, in a very British way. The queue got longer.
A couple of ladies decided to follow suit and boldly walked straight up to the head of the queue. People actually dared to challenge them (they must have been foreign tourists). The lady from BAA interjected and politely requested that they rejoin the queue from whence they came. They retorted 'but the queue is big and we will miss our flight'. The lady checked the boarding passes and told them that they had a full 45 minutes before the flight departed which that was plenty of time and they reluctantly went back to a stream of quiet 'Tut's.
A man immediately behind me then said to the BAA lady 'Some people just think they're better than everyone else'. At this stage, my wait was almost over as I was nearly at the X-ray machine. However, I thought this was a little unfair so I took a deep breath, summoned up the courage and said to the BAA lady.
'The queue is so long that people are actually queuing out in the main concourse. You really need to open up another gate. That is why people are getting worried and trying to jump the queue'.
She genuinely look surprised as if I had told her that I believed in aliens and replied 'Are they really ?' [ queuing on the concourse ]. Not sarcastically but in all honesty.
To my absolute amazement, she then walked the whole length of the queue, beyond passport control and looked out to the concourse, as she slowly absorbed the full extent of the queue.
She then returned and summoned two of the four BAA staff who were just stood around, chatting about their Christmas presents, the state of Aunt Agatha's health, flicking through the newspaper, arguing over whose turn it was to get the coffee, the weather and Chelsea's domination of the Premiership
Another X-ray scanner was opened. The queue started to reduce. People were happy although no-one had the courtesy to start a spontaneous round of applause for yours truly. I asked the lady from BAA for an application form for a job as a 'customer service assistant and senior queue monitor'.
The two remaining green shirted BAA staff remained chatting, no doubt discussing those January return to work blues and how difficult they were finding it to get motivated for work in 2006.
Once upon a time, I flew back from Lausanne in Switzerland to London. Although the skies were clear, there had been heavy thunderstorms earlier in the day so the plane was forced to hold above Heathrow. We flew around and around in circles for so long that we eventually had to divert to Bournemouth to refuel.
This impromptu diversion confused the trio of Swiss people sitting behind me who thought London was 'quite small' and 'very green' and why 'is no-one getting off' after we had landed and sat around for 15 minutes on the runway at this small, provincial airport.
This confusion was because British Airways were too incompetent to put a French speaker on the crew on a flight from Switzerland. In fact, when he realised he wasn't actually in London, one of the Swiss passengers then politely asked a stewardess why no announcements had been made in French.
Events then descended into farce when the stewardess then made an announcement for 'any French speaking passengers to make themselves known to the cabin staff'. The same Swiss passenger duly volunteered and he then made an announcement over the loudspeaker system directed primarily at his two fellow Swiss passengers who were sitting right there, next to him.
So, after a complimentary drink to placate the Brits and prevent rioting, we finally arrived 2 hours 30 mins late at London Heathrow. The final straw was that it took British Airways a further 45 minutes to get a set of steps and buses over to the remote stand at Terminal 4 so we could actually leave the plane.
As I finally left the plane at 21.45 on a Friday night, I was tired, fed up and just desperate to get home. The pilot was stood at the exit door, smiling and saying 'Good night' to all passengers.
I paused and told him that, while I understood that the diversion due to the weather was unavoidable, it was an absolute joke that the British Airways could not arrange for ground staff to meet a plane that was over 2 hours late. The only consequence for me was that my tea was cold. However, plenty of other passengers on that flight were desperately trying to make connections to America and Asia. If the steps had been in place, they might just have had a slim chance of making their onward connection. With this additional delay, there was absolutely no chance.
The pilot just smiled again (which was quite irritating in itself) and replied 'Yes I know Sir. It is embarrassing and bloody unacceptable and I can assure you that I have made my views known in no uncertain terms.'
A couple of years ago, I was staying at a posh hotel in Oslo. I returned to my room after a hard days work, looking forward to a very expensive glass of beer.
I swiped my card and entered room 216. To my surprise, I found a strange man in there. He was emerging from the bathroom but thankfully, he was fully clothed and alone.
My immediate reaction was to rapidly withdraw, apologising profusely. 'Oh I am awfully sorry. I appear to have the wrong room'. As the layout and decor of the hotel was identical on each floor, I just assumed that I had mistakenly entered room 316 (instead of 216).
I checked my key (room 216) and I checked the little wallet holder (room 216). I then stared blankly at the number on the door of the room I had just entered - 216 - when the door opened and the gentleman appeared again. I managed a quick peek into the room and saw my book on the desk and my alarm clock by the bed.
The American stranger smiled and said: 'Hey, you know. I think it might be me who has the wrong room' and we agreed to go downstairs to reception.
American: 'There is a problem. I appear to have been given this gentleman's room.'
Receptionist: 'Room number, please ?'
American: 'Room 216.'
Receptionist: 'Name ?'
American: 'Costner'
Receptionist: 'There is no problem. You are in room 216 and have the key for room 216.'
American: 'But this gentleman is already staying in room 216' (gestures towards me).
I step forward to the desk amazed at what I have heard thus far.
Receptionist: 'Name ?'
Me: 'Brightside'
Receptionist: 'Room number ?'
Me: '216.'
Receptionist: 'Mr Brightside. You checked out of room 216 at 08.45 this morning.'
Me: 'No I didn't. I am booked to stay here until tomorrow morning.'
Receptionist: 'No. Mr Brightside. You checked out of room 216 at 08.45 this morning and paid in full with a credit card.'
Me: 'No I didn't.'
Receptionist: 'Yes you did.'
[ To avoid an English pantomime exchange developing and as I was getting increasingly annoyed...]
Me: 'OK then. If I checked out of room 216 this morning, you must have a copy of my bill and the the credit card slip with my signature on it ?'
Receptionist: 'Yes, Sir. We do.'
Me: 'Please can I see it then.'
Receptionist: 'Yes.'
[ Walks off into office, obviously disgruntled ]
Receptionist: 'I'm awfully sorry, Mr Brightside. There has been a terrible mistake.'