Each journey starts with a small step and so it was with the taxi arriving ten minutes early, well it makes a change, to get us to the shuttle bus at the rat station. I think that the shuttle people are specially trained to take round-a-bouts at maximum warp without causing the thing to end up on its side but giving the occupants the impression of being in a tumble dryer. Still that’s the worst part over and the Royal Brunei flight is always comfortable with plenty of films to watch. The first leg to Brunei is quite i9nteresting as it goes over Australia during the day but there is only so much desert you can squiz at before it gets a bit samey so three films later and several games of who wants to be a millionaire and the first leg is over. Best film of this leg Night at the Museum three, which was entertaining without breaking the intellectual barriers. As for birds I was looking forward to getting something really exotic as it was daylight but there were dozens of Little Egrets, a species od Drongo and a swallowy thing probably Pacific but who knows.
The next bit was to Dubai and the only noteworthy thing was the amount of fruit juice they poured into you. The films again were OK but this time snoozing was on the menu, it was better that the food which was the same as the first leg only disappointingly noodles instead of mashed taters. At Dubai we were told that there would be a twenty minute turn around and going on the last time we were here it was a dash to the end of the airport a jostle through security and a mad dash to where we started from. Why we have to go through security and ditch all the water and drink that we bought at the airport while we were in transit is baffling as you cannot leave the place so how can you load up with naughty things. That reminds me in Brunei the airport ran out of water, bottled that is, until Hol found a hidden cache in what was described as KFC without the C or chips. And I thought they had improved. Still everybody was safely gathered in for the final leg of Dubai to London. Juice was in short supply on this bit and I was forced to watch the last Hobbit film and the Kingsman which was OK as a spoofy spy thing. I must have slept a bit as the seven hours seemed to go quite quickly and we didn’t get too grumpy which is normal for people on this type of journey.
We got through customs and passport control so easily found the bus to Stanstead Airport without too much bother having paid 5 quid to get the earlier bus, which was empty by the way so I am sure that we could have hopped on and the bloke wold have been a diamond geezer and said no worries. Anyway it was a short walk to the hotel and we booked in at 830 in the morning and promptly fell asleep. We did manage to get lunch inside us which was OK then waddled back to the room. My first pint of English beer was a pint of Boddingtons and it was strange as it left a back taste of copper followed by a variety of different yet equally mystifying metallic tastes. Perhaps it was just badly kept which was the favourite excuse my Dad would use for an indifferent beer whether it was badly kept or just rank beer. Dinner was interesting Hol had a risotto that allegedly had spinach in it but looking at the toxic colour it was probably harvested near Chernobyl. As for my gourmet chicken thing I think the chook had starved to death or the local sparrow population live in fear of their little lives. Perhaps I ordered of the children’s menu by mistake.
After trying with partial success Hol managed to pay for one of the hold luggage bags on Ryanair little did we know that this was just the start of trauma flight 1. The main problem with online check ion was that they wanted to charge us 400 pounds for a hire car that we didn’t want and there seemed to be no way to cancel the damn thing so many phone calls later success of a kind was achieved in that we had checked in and paid for one set of luggage, at a cost of 40 squids. The following morning we joined what looked like the queue for the Calais to Dover foot crossing. Only this was a lot less organised. When we finally got tom the front of the line we were told that all was good except we had to go to the information desk to pay for the other bag and that we would have to take the bag with us. She also said that just come to the front of the scrum and that would be fine. This is after I complained about people jumping in front, but it is different when it is you isn’t it. So of we dutifully trotted only to fine the electronic booking thing didn’t work, we tried it twice, and this queue was going slower than a retreating ice cap. The phrase piss up, brewery and organise was quickly coming to mind when on the off chance Hol tried the electronic thingy again and bugger me it worked and it gleefully took another 40 squids off us so that we had the privilege of flying nightmare air. Now we queue jumped in front of a very large shaven headed type and I gave him my most innocent “I know what you are going through cos I have been there myself” look, I cannot describe the look he gave me as I am sensitive to death looks, anyway ignoring looks from the geezer that must have been an extra from Lock, Stock and at least two Smoking Barrels we finally got the bag on the way. I am not sure if anybody has been to Stansted but it is huge and of course our gate was one that you had to walk too while all the other people caught a train too. So thinking that we were on the late side of we trotted, and I don’t do a quick trot any more only to find that after all the yomping the bloody thing was delayed. So my oldish bones need a seat and what is the one thing they don’t have, yup a seat anywhere. Now I know that this is hardly the budget airlines fault but a bit of organisation will make peoples journey so much better and memorable for the right reasons. So we get on the plane and after an hour and a bit land in la belle France only to be delayed getting off for “security reasons”. Again no fault of the carrier but you have to blame something.
Then there was getting the hire car it took nearly as long to get the car as it did to fly to Marseille. The reason for this is as clear as the plot to the Wicker man but it may have something to do with the Europcar staff disappearing for unspecified reasons and then ignoring the increasing ground swell of dissatisfaction that was fast approaching tsunami proportions. When we finally got to the counter it took about 6 minutes 30 seconds before we were sat in the car working out the route.
And so we were in France heading for Montpelier.