(Read time: 2 pints of Bud Light and a Mexican Chicken salad, without tomatoes)
Here I am, sat once again in the departure lounge of an airport, travelling, and this time not for fun. For the first time in a long time, I am travelling a long way, having a very long day, and almost certainly a hideously long few days, for work. And that’s a bad thing, as I am knackered before even pressing the start button!
Not a great way to start 4 days of insane travel, all courtesy of ecomedy class, with a good 22 hours of flying and multiple timezones to deal with. I’ve not done this sort of travel for a few years and I’ve got to be honest there’s a level of anxiety about it. I’m aware that the difference between a MAMIL and an OMIL is not massive and I have aged immeasurably since my last travel of this nature. Now, I know some people (who know me) will disagree, but it’s bloody true! Hair is growing where it shouldn’t and not growing where it should, and bits don’t work like they used to (i.e. I need reading glasses now… get out of the gutter!) and I sleep better than ever, 4 nights out of 7. ‘Things, they be changing’, and only because I really am getting older.
Today’s anxiety is a bit like when you’ve not had a filling at the dentist for a few years and out of nowhere he says you need 2 fillings, plus 3 crowns or your face will fall off. Now, I don’t think he actually said that, but that’s certainly what I heard, and how important it needs to be to contemplate committing to such fun when there is no burning platform (toothache).
I digress, and the fact is, I was tired yesterday, before I got up this morning at 3:15am, and know that my Middle Aged body is going to be a bloody mess when I get out of bed in 4 days time to go to see said dentist, for the remainder of said work. What a week, and most likely one to forget.
But, I’m not going to be grumpy today. Nope! There is much to be happy about. I’ve just had a magnificent bacon roll, and a bowl of fruit salad accompanied by an Americano and a pot of English Breakfast tea. Many points being scored here, right off the bat.
But, despite having been sat here long enough to consume said food and write this, I still have 2.5 hours until boarding, as my plane is going to be 2 hours late. And that’s a problem as making my connecting flight is now in real jeopardy and there’s nothing I can do about it until I land, clear immigration and see if I make it in time. Right now, I am not stressed or worried about that, as I’m far too tired. And even then, what’s the point in worrying. I’ll get to where I’m going when I get there, and deal with whatever is in front of me when I get there, and I’ll get to bed when I get to bed. Worry about what you can control, and right now the only thing I can control is my intake and outflow of fluids (I’m not referring to age here, you cheeky monkey! I’m referring to the situation)
Another thing to be happy about… on Friday, I reaffirmed that I’m a cyclist, when for the first time, I broke a spoke.
Now, clearly, on one level this is a very bad thing as the wheel now needs to be repaired and while I can do most maintenance tasks on my bike, it’s one of the few things that I know I would need more tools to complete, and certainly would order the wrong parts to fit, and then make a total horlicks (technical term) of squaring the wheel… so I’ve dropped it off with my friends at Gorilla Firm Cycling. I know that they will do a great job, as crucially they know what they’re doing, where I am still, after 13 years a ‘have a go hero’ when it comes to bicycle maintenance. Moreover it gives me an excuse to go and say ‘hello’… and look at their magnificent shop… well worth a visit even if you have to drive several hours to see it! And if you want a custom build, or the old jalopy refurbishing to better than its former glory, look no further. Sales job over… they really do sell themselves!
Clearly this isn’t the reason I’m happy. Spending money on repairs isn’t great news, but breaking a spoke is probably the one rite of passage I’ve not taken as a cyclist. I’ve fallen off, failing to unclip outside a busy pub, twice (different pubs I’d add). And there’s no hiding when you do it as there’s no sound like it… and the following cheer is perhaps a deserved crescendo. I’ve broken a chain, mid way through Lands End to John O Groats with a very ‘ham fisted’ gear change, while turning to go back uphill to retrieve someone else’s water bottle. There are 2 morals here 1) don’t help anyone else, ever, and 2) if you’re heading off on a 1,000mile bike ride and a mechanic says you need a new chain, you should have one fitted immediately, and certainly not measure it with a ruler and decide he’s fibbing and trying to make a quick buck. He wasn’t, I needed one, and the only upside was impressing my new friends with how quickly I could deal with fixing the issue with a chain breaker and a power link. Shame I needed to do it in the first place, eh?
Though my pinnacle disaster to date has to be, being let out of a junction by an oncoming lorry, rolling forwards into a wheel shaped and sized pot hole, and going straight over the handlebars into the middle of a main road, squarely in front of the lorry. Fortunately he liked cyclists and made sure to stop before he turned me into Lycra wearing blob of mush, though I know many wouldn’t. I thank him for that, and for checking that I was ok before we both had a giggle about it, as an enormous queue built up behind his truck. But all of these events represented great learning opportunities, and now I smile with fondness at them all, as they were all learning points, displacing naivety and making me the cyclist I am today. (Not blowing one’s trumpet, merely being unusually self aware)
And so breaking a spoke now gets added to the list, and is a solid affirmation and reminder of who I think (know) I am, a cyclist.
And so… plot twist… 36 hours on, while I am clearly psychic, I confess to having absolutely no idea what time it is. While my watch says 10:13am, my body says 3am, and I am precisely 700 miles away from where I am supposed to be. It seems the travel anxiety was well placed and my Scooby Senses were wired for a reason. Between security events at Heathrow and thick fog in Atlanta, not only was I going to miss my connecting flight, but this onward flight was also cancelled anyway. So I’ve now had a ‘bonus night’ in Atlanta, spending my jet lagged early wake up, sorting the now sh!t show of a trip. If the stats weren’t bad and exhausting enough before, it’s now still the same 22 hours in the air, but crucially – 4 days, 4 flights, 3 nights and 3 hotels in 3 different cities. The dentist is feeling a pretty good alternative right now, if that was an option. Equally, I’d probably take several punches in the face right now, never-mind a nice anaesthetic injection before a couple of hours of drilling and filling, over what’s left of the trip.
But, am I unhappy… miffed maybe, but unhappy? No. It is what it is, as I, perhaps unusually, followed my own advice.
I’m not going to lie, last night was tough, but focusing on what I could control was key, and rather than persisting with perhaps a natural, professional inclination of trying to get a flight last night at all costs, before inevitably ending up arriving late at the same hotel, and trying again today, I took control and decided that sleep was the priority, not a location that was unlikely to work out anyway. And if ever you needed a demonstration of why ‘hand luggage only’ is the best way, this was it, saving time and providing flexibility. You can have this advice for free! Travel light always, smelling good isn’t a priority so leave your aftershave at home, and even consider sharing others underwear, if it means you don’t have to check a bag. It will serve you well at some point.
This approach has previously allowed me to get out of a couple of situations that I didn’t want to be in, and so I never check a bag unless I absolutely have to. Don’t get me wrong, if you’re flying to a week long business conference, or perhaps the Maldives or Tuscany to get married, it could be a challenge. However, for the conference get creative. Travel in your suit, and take only one. Wear the same shirt for 3 days, but take 6 different ties (they take no room), and change them at lunchtime to show how huge your wardrobe must be, or even simply change jobs to avoid the handshake Petri dish in the first place. Whereas for the wedding, I accept it may be a struggle to get the Fiancées dress into their hand luggage, particularly with all the accessories that are needed. But they certainly don’t need any makeup, they’re beautiful anyway. And I am pretty sure that depending on the width of the dress (Meringue’s need not apply, obviously!) airlines are quite happy to hang it in the wardrobe, and as for the Fiancé’s suit… hire it in Florence, or if it’s the Maldives, they just need some linen trousers and shirt – it will be just fine, leaving plenty of room for budgie smugglers and bikinis in a single piece of hand luggage, so there’s no excuse. On the other hand, Skiing might just be a good case for using the hold! Though, I do often put my boots in my hand luggage. And I genuinely also recall someone at Stansted Airport trying to wear their ski boots and helmet on the plane to save on extra luggage, I sh!t you not!
As I’m sat on the plane now, watching a shambles unfold, I do want to raise a perhaps sensitive air travel topic, and if you’re one of the following people, I’m frankly not sure you should be allowed out, and I’m genuinely not sorry for offending you. If you drive, your license should be revoked immediately…. Here goes… I do find it odd, perhaps mind bending, how hard some people seem to find boarding a plane. It is, even in its most complex form, a very basic concept. A series of numbers that go up as you head towards the back of the plane and a series of letters that go up alphabetically as you go from right to left across the cabin, as you look to the rear (an important clarification! Some clever sausage would have argued with me otherwise!).
Now, if you’ve only ever read Chinese, Japanese, Russian or Arabic where the characters and flow of these things are different, I do have sympathy. But this certainly does not explain why on a plane full of Westerners, finding your seat is like a Krypton Factor task, or perhaps the toughest Sudoku of all time. Trust me when I say, it is VERY simple. YOUR seat IS indicated by the NUMBER and LETTER on your boarding pass, and THIS IS the same as the one indicated by the numbers and letters above the seats. Honestly, it’s that easy!! This may be, may be slightly complicated, perhaps, on wide-bodies like the 777 or A380, but the vast majority aren’t flying on these marvels of engineering and you have 1-30 (ish) and A-F to deal with, and trust me again, it really is not an algebra equation that needs any deep thought, and certainly doesn’t need any specific qualifications. Perhaps if you’re worried when boarding, you should ask the cabin crew! Is it the pressure of the queue behind them that makes their brain turn to jelly?
I’ll give the benefit of the doubt and go with that, though I suspect it’s actually something quite different. Common sense is being displaced, moreover deleted and made obsolete by technology! We’re forgetting how to think for ourselves. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why I am actually happy. Yesterday I had the chance to think and do some practical problem solving, and you know what, it worked out just fine.
And so crucially, while I would always rather be where I am happiest, at home, I do love flying and even more important than that right now, I am obsessed with buffalo chicken wings and Bud Light. So providing tonight’s dinner involves those two ingredients, I’ll certainly find something to like about today (and yes, I’m that simple).
But given how this trip is going, watch this space… it’s highly likely that there’s more to come.
The Gabbling MAMIL 