Published: June 24th 2012June 21st 2012
I am a grouch at airports. I remind myself of my mother, the queen of online shopping, when she is forced to do a run at Morrissons. No, worse. I read the first few pages of the Frankie Boyle autobiography and was horrified at how negative this disgusting man was yet instantly related myself to him at certain points in my life.
In short, I am an airport Frankie Boyle.
Edmunds thinks I'm going to get myself punched or worse but I'm honestly in control, it's just her that bears the brunt. She's happy to do so in order for us not to get shot or hauled in by security.
We've done many a flight since we came travelling, primarily to save time and a secondary reason being that I have the innability to go on a bus journey for more than 45 minutes without throwing up. It's a wonderful Asian habit I've developed. During our airport journey's we've picked up many a funny anecdote. On our flight from Hanoi to Bangkok, I successfully ran over the smallest Asian girl in the world's foot. It bloody didn't hurt her that much I'm sure but her and the family made out like I'd walked over and pissed on her suitcase. In my boldened enrage at being in an airport I simply replied that she should not have been under my trolley at that exact moment in time. Later, we saw that said little Asian girl was on our flight sporting a massive plaster and a glare in our direction. What are the odds?
On said flight, we also encountered a greasy, miserable Italian idiot who was abusing the staff for the flight being delayed. There is nothing that I can't stand more than when somebody abuses staff, it's clearly not their fault. In my state of fury/confidence I suggested loudly to him that he should pipe down, that Rome was the worst airport I'd ever been to and that the staff there were totally inadequate. He didn't reply. He might've been Russian for all we knew, we just guessed a nationality, but I think I made my point.
On arriving at airport control in Bangkok, as anybody travelling will know is a lengthly process, we got stuck behind some random dutch guy who kept hassling us to share his taxi ("bloody no way" was my response after he'd hustled Edmunds for the third or fourth time) and a lady with a rather large backside. I've seen some arses in my time but this had the sheer enormity of a heffalump. She was arguing with the stony faced customs lady about something and I was tapping my foot, Edmunds looking sullen beside me. We didn't really know what was going on until a security guard whisked her past and, to our horror, we got a waft of what could clearly be construed as rotten chicken curry. It was vile - I've never smelt a woman like it. We both exchanged glances and chuckled. I can only assume that the dirty mare's enormous arse was probably loaded with crack filled condoms.
On the flight from Bangkok to Samui we were a little more calmer but hungover from Bangkok and both grouchy from sporting illegible and frankly rough henna tattoos on our body. Both of us were dressed in cut off denim and belly tops which made us further look like "Hoe's". That's another thing about airports, I have no clue as to what is classed as appropriate airport attire!
On this particular flight which was again delayed we were sat in the airport departure lounge. Both of us were grumpy and just wanted to get our tan on. I was desperately trying to attain wifi as I usually do and Edmunds was watching a monkey have a tug on America's funniest Animals playing on the telly or whatever, not talking to each other, each blaming one for getting the other drunk and painted the previous night. Some kid started piping up in German about something and crying. UNcontrollably. Annoyingly loud. It was doing our head in. The mother promptly smacked him several times - my views on smacking in public and in general will remain confidential due to the status of my future job. All I'll say is that I got smacked as a kid a few times and it did me no harm; it also now gives me justification to give my mother the occasional slap when she's misbehaving - my excuse is "you did it to me first!". I'm joking, of course...
In this case, Edmunds and I exchanged one of our telekenetic looks and both declared "Now and again it has to be done".... our friendship was instantly rekindled, but at least there's an excuse for me being a total misery in airports.