Day 58: I Have A Guest Post

My mother, known to regular readers as Monkeymother, has been travelling of late, and here - as it's funnier than anything I can think of - is an email she sent us this morning, that I will now share with the world. (Well, with the 12 other unemployed people who may stumble across this blog whilst watching This Morning and drinking Harvey's Bristol Cream straight from the bottle.)

The Trip So Far

The Car: Journey to Poitiers via Ruffec not much fun. Convoy of lorries travelling at 40mph between Aigre and Ruffec. A10 in Poitiers ok, but wouldn't want to risk delays in busy periods. Difficult to find parking space, eventually find one a mile away.

The Airport: Having checked website that morning, arrive at airport to discover rules have changed French end and, as have no baggage to check in, have to chuck away all cosmetics, paracetamol, etc ,etc. Computer check-in makes no difference to me. Go through stringent security - French, charming, good-natured, in the face of people who do not understand that toothpaste is in a tube and resembles a gel and that lipsticks are cosmetics and belong in the bin. I have a laugh with two of them and it cheers us all up a bit, although a little hurt that young, good-looking man tells me that Macs are finished and when I cite iPod, he doesn't rate them any better than the competition.

The Departure Lounge: Go through to departure lounge. No aircon, not enough seats, two ineffectual fans, drinks machine out of action for security purposes (understood), but no water dispenser and people dying around me. Flight called. Obviously the plane will go without us if we do not push, trampling children and the disabled in the process. Ryanair personnel decide not to bother with last security checks of passports and boarding cards (as carried out in every airport in the World, I believe), open doors wide and people run for that plane as if they believe is taxiing down the runway without them.

The Plane: Dirty, full, bearable but no tea?! Several screaming children, the majority of whom are old enough to know better, as are their parents (just).

The Arrival: Walk miles and miles, elderly gent walking behind says: "Travelling isn't fun anymore, is it?". Find queues for passport control as long as I have ever seen anywhere in the World - understandable but awful. I am asked where I have come from, why, and for how long. No, I was not tempted to make a facetious reply - for once, but have bonded with nice man, whom I will never see again, in the queue.

The Train: Filthy beyond imagination. The seats, the floor, the walls, the windows (inside and out). Then it stops, for quite a long time.

The Tube: Excellent, arrives immediately, they apologise for the delay. Then we stop in a tunnel, for quite a long time. It is very hot.

Vauxhall Station: No ticket-buying facility, of any sort, available. Wait for train. Cancelled. Next train comes into wrong platform. But it is beautiful, and spotless, and air-conditioned. Perhaps it is like this as it is the Weybridge service - maybe we should consider moving to the burbs after all?

Barnes Bridge: Stagger home.

This journey has taken me 7 horrible hours door-to-door. There will be a train strike on Monday. Maybe I shall stay here for ever.

But I love you all.