Blogging Pubbitch

Those who know me occasionally like to comment about how calm and serene I am in any given stressful situation, if only to avoid using words like "very calm" or "extraordinarily serene" Take, as a random but I think curiously pertinent example, air travel. Now, it's common knowledge that every plane in every airport is in danger of being blown out of the sky by shoe-bombing nutters, and as such security has been enhanced to such a degree that the mere act of wearing shoes will set off alarms and a vigorous series of questions (as happened to us only this morning) Because of this, it's considered prudent to arrive at least an hour before a flight so that the people responsible for security can make sure that you're not going to file your nails or put anything into a ring binder (though, remember, it's fine to have several litres of highly flammable alcohol stored in containers which can be converted into a handing stabbing implement by the simple expedient of smashing it against something solid, such as the list of things that you're no longer allowed to take onto an aircraft)

This might explain why when we arrive at an airport with about half an hour until take-off I'm generally chewing my way through the seatbelt and Holly's poking around in her mysteriously Tardis-like bag for something the use of which I'm not entirely certain of. As I try and gently encourage us towards a speedy check-in through the simple expedient of running around like a contestant on the Crystal Maze trying to solve a particularly taxing problem to do with weights, little balls made of rubber and a dozen pencils, Holly will breezily be assuring me that, contrary to the blatantly obvious truth, "we have loads of time," The worst thing is that, generally, we do have "loads of time" but only if this is defined as "the plane hasn't left yet because the last stragglers are still being herded on"

Oh well, at least we've managed to get to where we want to be. And we've had a chance to wander around the departure lounge at Brisbane, which has, I can assure you with confidence, the most expensive sandwiches on the planet. Now, I'm fully aware of the advantages to the seller of a captive market, but, really, this is taking the piss. For the price of an egg and salad sandwich in Brisbane airport, it's possible to buy a small Caribbean island, complete with idyllic palm trees, beautiful beaches, and (this is the important bit) more sandwiches than it would be possible to shake a fair sized stick at.

Well, it seems as if I'm obsessing about sandwiches. At least the coffee is merely exorbitantly priced....