Samuel Johnson? Pah!

So here I am in Jersey once again – for the last time. Yippee! Now, you may be wondering what poor Jersey has done to deserve this, seeing that loads of people come here on holiday and have a lovely time. Dear Jersey, it’s not you, it’s me.

When you speak with someone who travels abroad a lot for their work, it always sounds so glamorous and fun but they seem so blasé  about it. Trust me, it’s because it’s a pain in the patoot. To begin with, I spent 2 hours sitting on the tarmac at Gatwick as the planes queued up to leave. The computer assigning the crews to push off the planes had broken down, blah de de blah blah. See how boring that is already? Welcome to my world. No, we couldn’t get off the plane to go back to the terminal, no, they couldn’t serve any drinks or food whilst on the ground, Airport Authority regulations, but we could have water if we wanted it. Whoop de doo. Then the couple next to me ( I had the window seat, exit door) started with the PDAs and I thought, “What fresh hell is this?” Luckily they were a) really nice, and b) managed to restrain  themselves so I resisted the urge to rip open the emergency door and throw myself on the tarmac. Nevertheless, following the debacle of the last trip to Guernsey (8-hour delay, anyone?) I had already turned down all offers of working abroad and this latest jamboree totally solidified that decision. I am so sick of living out of a suitcase, I can’t even begin to tell you. Even the fab views from my hotel room (see above), has not made a dent in my horror at the prospect of future trips.

Luckily, I had a brainful of poetry to amuse myself with or I would have lost it on the plane due to a potent mix of hypoglycaemia and sheer boredom. Fill your head with poetry, you never know when you’ll need it. An example of a  poem that kept me going:

This sketch has been composed to tell, the miracle about the cell.

Relating to a special trick,

It performs in arithmetic.

So gaze upon its humble size, and think how, when it multiplies,

It solves with effortless precision,

A major problem in division.

When a man is tired of Gatwick, it’s a sign of excellent taste. And the pictures of the Gatwick Airport? Boring, aren’t they? That was my view for 2 hours; why should I suffer alone? To quote Ogden Nash in Seaside mode:

You can share my jellyfish,

I am not sellyfish. 🙂

Have a peaceful, landlubbing week.

Save

Save

Save