Cocktails by the jug - a very British thing.I have never seen Margaritas, Mojitos or Pina Coladas served in the 2 ltr measures anywhere else. Now I am sure the UK doesn't have a monopoly on such things but whenever I see them, I think of Britain.
Other than the obvious things like Pounds Stirling, shitty weather and the Queen there are a lot of other little things which remind me of home. My version of the UK is not a London, Eastenders version of Britain, it’s now not even a North of Scotland version, it's the Southern Scotland version and, given this is a personal thing, presumably mine and mine only.
My version has wrinkly old people, in walking gear fit for an Arctic expedition doddering through the park in search of a nice scone and a flavoured tea.
My version has the family Neanderthal dragging their knuckles as they sport the latest fashion direct from Ibrox. Father Neanderthal doesn't see the irony in having the word Carling stretched thin over his jellied torso. The kids, always boys, are shaven headed monsters and mum brings up the rear, perma-fag stuck to her lightly bearded lip.
My UK is outdoor heaters, fag butt piles, Bank of Scotland cash points (not ATMs), tracksuits everywhere, all day breakfasts, white trainers, sports bars done badly, stripy pole barber shops, great music, history, three cheese sandwiches and Regal King Size.
Last weekend I had the pleasure of spending 3 hours at Prestwick airport.
The low price gateway to Scotland and reciprocally the world, or at least an airport about 2 hours bus ride from the world. As I waited for check in to open I enjoyed a drink in the Yates bar and was pleasantly surprised to find all aspects of my version of Britain present. Cocktails were consumed by the jug, family Neanderthal ran riot next to the plasma screen, lager and sugar loaded drinks fuelling their anarchy.
The poor old couple were there, drinking tea and trying very hard to ignore the hen party going full throttle next to them but the Pièce de résistance was the outdoor smoking area - at an Airport.
You can tell you are at a low cost airline hub as you have to pay through the nose for everything and the sight of people emptying their suitcases to reduce the weight at check in is common place.
All airlines have weight and hand luggage policies but only Ryanair police it with vigour of an Israeli counter terrorist cell - they even have weighing scales as you board the plane for your hand luggage.
On board and on our way the warm experience continues. Being happy is optional for Ryanair staff and judging from my experience all had decided to opt out. They remind me of gypsies at a travelling fair - pissed off and looking for every opportunity to squeeze, steal or rip money off you. I sat rigid, in my wipe-clean plastic seat, with my hand firmly gripping my wallet for the duration.
We arrived on time, a fact which was proudly and very loudly announced throughout the cabin.
It was very, very, cheap, safe, on time and did exactly as advertised. They don't claim anywhere to offer an enjoyable flight so it really is my own fault for being disappointed when I didn't receive one.
I truly hope when people visit Scotland and decide to use Ryanair as their method of getting there they don't think that the airline or airport is representative of the country.
My advice – get as far away from the airport as possible, find a bar, drink 2 liters worth of Margaritas, smoke a fist full of Regal King Size and eat a three cheese sandwich.
Trust me if you do, Ryanair will fade away and Scotland will morph into the wonderful destination that it really is.
Other than the obvious things like Pounds Stirling, shitty weather and the Queen there are a lot of other little things which remind me of home. My version of the UK is not a London, Eastenders version of Britain, it’s now not even a North of Scotland version, it's the Southern Scotland version and, given this is a personal thing, presumably mine and mine only.
My version has wrinkly old people, in walking gear fit for an Arctic expedition doddering through the park in search of a nice scone and a flavoured tea.
My version has the family Neanderthal dragging their knuckles as they sport the latest fashion direct from Ibrox. Father Neanderthal doesn't see the irony in having the word Carling stretched thin over his jellied torso. The kids, always boys, are shaven headed monsters and mum brings up the rear, perma-fag stuck to her lightly bearded lip.
My UK is outdoor heaters, fag butt piles, Bank of Scotland cash points (not ATMs), tracksuits everywhere, all day breakfasts, white trainers, sports bars done badly, stripy pole barber shops, great music, history, three cheese sandwiches and Regal King Size.
Last weekend I had the pleasure of spending 3 hours at Prestwick airport.
The low price gateway to Scotland and reciprocally the world, or at least an airport about 2 hours bus ride from the world. As I waited for check in to open I enjoyed a drink in the Yates bar and was pleasantly surprised to find all aspects of my version of Britain present. Cocktails were consumed by the jug, family Neanderthal ran riot next to the plasma screen, lager and sugar loaded drinks fuelling their anarchy.
The poor old couple were there, drinking tea and trying very hard to ignore the hen party going full throttle next to them but the Pièce de résistance was the outdoor smoking area - at an Airport.
You can tell you are at a low cost airline hub as you have to pay through the nose for everything and the sight of people emptying their suitcases to reduce the weight at check in is common place.
All airlines have weight and hand luggage policies but only Ryanair police it with vigour of an Israeli counter terrorist cell - they even have weighing scales as you board the plane for your hand luggage.
On board and on our way the warm experience continues. Being happy is optional for Ryanair staff and judging from my experience all had decided to opt out. They remind me of gypsies at a travelling fair - pissed off and looking for every opportunity to squeeze, steal or rip money off you. I sat rigid, in my wipe-clean plastic seat, with my hand firmly gripping my wallet for the duration.
We arrived on time, a fact which was proudly and very loudly announced throughout the cabin.
It was very, very, cheap, safe, on time and did exactly as advertised. They don't claim anywhere to offer an enjoyable flight so it really is my own fault for being disappointed when I didn't receive one.
I truly hope when people visit Scotland and decide to use Ryanair as their method of getting there they don't think that the airline or airport is representative of the country.
My advice – get as far away from the airport as possible, find a bar, drink 2 liters worth of Margaritas, smoke a fist full of Regal King Size and eat a three cheese sandwich.
Trust me if you do, Ryanair will fade away and Scotland will morph into the wonderful destination that it really is.
I bet if you were stuck there this weekend, you might well be saying please even Ryanair get me home.....
ReplyDeleteI would but would sulk all the way home
ReplyDelete