Wednesday 20 November 2013

All is fair in flight and war

I think it is now time to illuminate the repetitive struggle to get Mother from our home in Spain to her work schedule in the UK. Most of the time I feel like her PA but when it comes to flights, I'm sure we switch roles entirely and I become the organised (occasionally flustered) parent; shuffling her curious child through the terminal. As we reach the security check and I pass through undamaged, I look back to see Mother being thoroughly examined. Wonderful. Her boots are off (revealing baby pink socks over black tights, teamed with a dress that possibly won't protect her fully from the frost we are headed towards). She spots me peering round, a little worried and instantly gives me a reassuring wave and an eye roll. Mid-frisk (as Mother likes to refer to it) I see the Spanish lady-inspector admire her outfit and she asks Mother if she's French. Mother gleams back at her and spontaneously squeals; "Oui! Si! Oui! Je suis French! Uhh... well... *bashfully bows head* no, actually... I'm English *grunts* BUT I'd very much like to be French!" The woman lets her go after this.

 Waiting for our gate number to be displayed, Mother takes the opportunity to people-watch. I accompany.
"Good Lord! What on earth is she wearing?! She must be British. Bloody British slobs."
"IS THAT A DOG?!"
"He won't be allowed on board if he has another beer, will he, darling?!"
"How much longer do we have to wait?!"
"They better have my peppermint tea on board. I only like that brand they have. I want some. What should Mummy buy to eat with it, darling? What does Mummy like? What do I usually like to eat with my tea, sweetie?"

Arriving at the gate we join the speedy boarding queue and Mother's eyes are on full alert. Glaring at anybody who has exceeded the bag limit.
"Look! Look at her! She's got a case and a handbag! Well, I'll tell you now; if they let her on like that, I'm going to say something. I mean, what are rules for?!"
"Oh my God. Look, darling. Just look at that woman! The one with the child! Those are the worst kind of women; the ones with the babies who think they have a license to do anything they want to because they carry a small human being! Just HOW MANY BAGS DOES SHE HAVE?!"

I can tell this is going to get worse.

As we go through to board the plane, I turn around to find Mother several yards away, at the top of the slope, bag checking?! Aha! She has found a villain. Scandalous! I watch as she observes the staff telling the unsuspecting traveller to please condense her hand baggage as only one per passenger is permitted. She proceeds to empty the entire contents of her handbag into her duty free shopping bag (permitted also) and then place her empty handbag underneath her husband's jacket. Somehow, this satisfies Mother and she triumphantly comes to stand by me.
"You know, darling, I wasn't doing that to be nasty. I just think that if she can have two bags then why on earth am I going to squish my bag into my suitcase?!"

I do actually agree.

We are then greeted with a new boarding system. Annoyingly, this system completely defeats the purpose of the Speedy Boarding facility we have. For some very bizarre reason, the airline has decided to board the plane in seat number order. The first half of the plane first and the second half being sent down two flights of stairs to be faced with a locked door for 15 minutes. Mother, being the terribly impatient person she is, engages in several raging conversations (rants) with seven or eight other passengers in this situation.

Finally on board and Mother addresses a member of the cabin crew;
"What on earth was all that about?! Just simply ridiculous! Honestly, I don't know who came up with this procedure but I certainly do not agree with being shuttled downstairs and waiting like a HERD OF ANIMALS! Could you please send someone of high importance to speak to me? I'd like to make a formal complaint."

Moments later, the head of cabin crew summons Mother to the front of the plane (apparently more private, although the entire plane is now gawping at this woman trundling down the aisle behind a member of staff. She looks like a school girl in assembly). This does, however, mean I missed out on the conversation. Although, from what it looked like, there was no arm-flapping (rare) and no high-pitched shouting. I think they may have even made friends?!

The remainder of the flight was fairly calm. Until the stewardess informed Mother that they had switched their brand of peppermint tea.