The joys of winter air travel

As I sat in the plane this morning, watching people board, I took a moment to think back over the last couple of hours. Snow had brought most airport to a stand-still the day before, and a horde of unhappy, tired and frustrated customers where trying to make their way to their Christmas holiday destinations. So, even though I was ready for it, I had a bit of a shock as I walked into Bristol's terminal.. 

It has been a real long time since I last had to queue to check my luggage in. And I mean really queue; not the 10 minutes wait we are now used to. No, I am talking about the 2 hours long wait which ends by your flight number and destination being called so that you may now jump to the front and make it to the plane on time. At first I was troubled by the caos and lenght of the line I was in, but then I remembered. I remembered a time before paperless tickets, online check in - via your home pc, laptop or even mobile phone. Before hand luggage turned into actual suitcases and flying was more an adventure than just another mean of transportation. But now, we treat it like we do train journeys. We expect it to be on time, well organised, with a seat for each of us and a smooth journey ahead.

As I stood in my "Easy-Jet" queue, I noticed just how much, when things go wrong in the well oiled machine that is an airport and the rules we are imposed aren't followed by everyone, our animal instinct resurface ... First, I watched, in dismay, a man, followed by his two teenage boys and shy little wife jump the queue. Casually, as they were walking around, he asked one of the gentlemen slightly ahead of myself if this was the line for easy-jet. As his interlocuteur nodded, he gave a very quick look around and called his kids and wife to join him. Nobody moved nor said a thing. But I know every one felt it. You could see it in their body language. Funnily enought, I straight away started to feel my blood boil, anger coming over me and that very nerve getting agitated. I felt this was very childish behaviour and decided to push it away... Where did it go, I hear you ask... well, let see, shall we.

Then I struck a conversation with the woman behind me who was very protective of her own little space. But, as she was not only aware of it, but also rather candid about it, we had a nice discussion about social behaviour in such situations. Have you noticed how, when in a queue, most people cannot stand it if you are not moving straight away when the people in front of you move foward. Which is silly really, as it is only maybe a meter or 2, and yet we all struggle to keep our cool when in such position. So, after pointing this out to my new friend, and for the fun of a social experiment, I stopped and waited to see what would happen. Fair enought, the people in front of me started to build a nice gap between me and them and I started to get a few looks. That's when my brand new buddy nuddged me and, with a gentle laugh, said: "Come on, go, I can't stand it."

Eventually, as I was practically at the front of the queue, the airport voice called my flight number and everyone behind me rushed past to get to the desks. So, after recovering a little from my shell shock reaction, I suddently found myself torn between two check in desks: on my left, a family of 7 people - big and small - was trying to check in, while on my right, a group of 4 women were gathering their "small" hand luggage on the floor between themselves - reminding me a little of that same behaviour previously witnessed in clubs - as they checked in. And that's when I had an epiphany.

There needs to be zones assigned for different types of travelers. 

A. One for the families - after all, and I know this is anything but politically correct, but why should I suffer the constant moaning and complaining of little and medium people when I'm on holiday! It just puts a down on my holiday spirit.

B. One for groups - any more than 2 people! Because they're just too loud, chatty and happy for me.

C. One for couples - and lets put them all in one same terminal far away from the rest of us. I mean, what single person wants to queue behind a couple constantly smooching one another. Seriously, aren't they aware there are a large amount of frustrated single females walking around the place. No, they are not!!!

D. Last but not least, and the most important of all: one for people traveling by themselves. They are organised, quiet, and quick when going through security!!!

Talking about being quick, you would think that, by now, people would know the rules of going through security. And even if you don't know, you're told about it 20 times before you even get to the gate via your check in agent, internet website, oh, and big fat signs as you approach the conveyor belt that you are only allowed one hand luggage... ONE!!! NOT a mini suitcase and a hand bag!!! ONE!!! Because then, you have to reorganised all your stuff and when you do, it gets on MY nerve!!! It also reminds you that you need to take off your coat, belt and boots, take your laptop out of its bag, and remove anything from your pockets. So, could someone explain to me, why, oh why, do people wait until the very last second to get all that ready??? It's holding me back and getting on that nerve of mine again. And don't even get me started on liquids and see through bags!!!

Eventually, I get to the boarding gate and joined another queue, and may I just say, with all due respect, by God are the british good at this!!! The lady checking my papers then follows me to the boarding queue and asks passangers to use the entire room. Because, yes, you guessed it, they are very carefully lined up 2 by 2 with large amount of room on each side. And then, the nerve took over. There was noting I could do no more. So, with the blessing of the airport staff, I quickly, swiftly and feeling totally no shame at all, jumped the whole queue!!! I was within the first 20 people to get into the plane. TAKE THAT rules, regulations and social expectations!

As I settled into my seat, in the middle of the plane, right by the exit door, which has the largest leg room of the entire plane, I noticed the family that had jumped the queue way back when I was patiently waiting to check in, coming into the aricraft. RESULT, I say!!! I admit, this trip brought out the slightly evil, conniving, devious and cheeky side of me... But this is war, survival of the fittest. Or some might say, just the joys of winter air travel.

To be a good friend...

I’ve been in South Devon for over two years now, and I am slowly building a brand spanking new group of friends. I’m 37 and it is quite hard work to put together a new social circle. And I mean real friends. The type of people who will take you no matter the mood you’re in, who will forgive your outbursts, your hormonal imbalance and your untidy home. All right, all right, I’m just talking about me, here. Still, I’m talking about the ones that you can call in tears because you broke a nail. Because they know that nail is only the tip of the iceberg and they will listen to whatever nonsense you go on about.

The thing is, past the age of 10, making friends isn’t easy. I mean, have you recently tried walking up to someone, anyone, male or female and say: “Hey, do you want to play?” … No? You should try it sometime. See what happens… Ok, so, that might not be the appropriate phrasing. Let’s try “Hey, do you want to be my friend?” … Mmmm … No, you don’t think that would work either. It does sound a little bit freaky. What if I suggested “Can I buy you a beer?” Then, the person you’re talking to will straight away wonder what your agenda is. Because that’s how society has changed us. Apparently, we forgot how to be kind, honest, gentle and loving toward one another, especially strangers. We tend to automatically think the worse of people.

I have recently found myself falling in love with a gorgeous golden Labrador. Her owners let me take her out whenever I want to. So, I have discovered a totally different universe. For some reason, when I’m out walking with the dog, people are open, friendly and will happily have a chat as we cross path. It’s like, having that dog with me, suddenly makes me more appealing and less threatening. Do the same walk without the dog, and the people I cross path with will barely look up to say hello. People don’t trust easily, nor do they open up. And I believe that, the society we live in, isn’t helping either.

My point is, when it comes to relationships – friendship or other -  until you really get to know people and build a strong bond of trust, you have no idea what their lives are like, what they have been through up until you met, or even what they are going through right now. Over the last few weeks, I have learned more about some of my “new” friends, and I have realised how easy it is to forget that, behind their everyday faces, their routine and good looking life, their private lives could be falling apart, they might be going through some terrible tragedy or dilemma and no one on the outside would be none the wiser.

But when you know, when you find out, how you react to it defines who you are. It is so easy to pass judgment on someone, on a situation, or even on how your friend is managing it. And it is understandable too. You look at it from your own point of view, using your own experiences and feelings regarding the said situation. So, yes, it is understandable. But is it helpful? Is it kind? Is it loving? A few years ago, I would have said so. Today, I am not sure anymore. I look at the people around me and I can’t help but think that we have become too self centred even in our approach to helping one another.

So, as hard as it might be, I try to put my own prejudgment aside and listen more to my friends needs. And, even if sometimes I still can’t help but jump in with both feet to tell them what I would do if I was in their shoes, I find that, taking a step back to try and understand how they are feeling rather than why they are feeling this way, and empathise with that feeling, brings them more comfort than anything else I could rumble about.

So, as I try to be a good friend, I keep my mind, my soul and my heart open, try to keep my babbling tongue in check and thank God – or whoever is in charge – for the friends I have in my life who are doing just the same for me.

Where did all the good men go?

Call me childish, a player, a needy woman, a desperate soul searching for love, a serial dater… Call me anything you like; but one thing I am not … is a liar. If I meet a man I neither like nor fancy, I will cut the date short and let him know that I’m not interested. If I meet a man I fancy but don’t see anything else, I will let him know that too. Blunt, frank and straightforward, with me, men pretty much always know where they stand.

However, I, cruelly innocent in the matter of the heart, thought I could expect the same from the men I meet. A few years ago, I used to put their ways of deceiving me down to their age. Maybe youth had a way of holding back their true bravery. After all, rejecting someone is not a pleasant thing to do and definitely require a certain amount of guts.

When meeting people via the Internet, you have to know that most of them are just not going to give you that spark and that, the likelihood of the two of you walking away hand in hand into the sunset at the end of the first date is as likely as me winning the lottery – which I don’t even play! However, this should not stop you from being pleasant, respectful and graceful. After all, that person sitting across from you is just that: a human being, with ideals, dreams, needs, ambitions and who, just like you, are looking for someone to journey through life with.

Having reached my late 30s, I naively thought things would be different. Be then, men are more mature and have more respect for others. Unfortunately, the last couple of months have proved me wrong. Ever so wrong. Let me take you back to a couple of months ago. I have been on a successions of dates, some cut short, some pleasant enough and a handful apparently successful.

Keeping in mind, this is ME we’re talking about! I have such a need for a man’s company that I regularly make all the wrong judgments and choices. Well, what can I say, nobody’s perfect. So, yes, I have a bad habit to give too much too soon. But should my failings really cost me so much? And even if having taken advantage of my weaknesses, why can’t those so called men grow some backbones and actually come out straight that they are just not interested. 

Take this first subject, lets call him … Luke … After all, that’s his name. We met at the beginning of September. After three lovely dates, he gets dinner and a run around the French playground. I played it cool and smoothly all the way. Held it back till the 4^th date, which for me, was an achievement!!! But, half way through the night, he gets a phone call and leaves due to a “family emergency”. After that … nothing … and I mean absolutely nothing. No text, no call, no e-mails. I decided that he must have hit the dust and is now lying 6ft under. Why else would he just disappear, right … ? Turns out, he is very much breathing and alive. What ever happened there? I only wish I knew.

Let’s look now at the second subject: the DFS man… and I am only protecting his identity for his own safety ;-). Our first and only date was fun, relaxed, exciting and totally unpredictable. So, yes, I made some very bad decisions during that evening. None that I am ashamed of, but lets be straight here, looking back – and according to some of my closest friends – I could have been a little more … mmm … refrained. He spent the evening making “promises” he obviously never meant to keep. And I spent the evening believing every last bit of it, because, after all, I am a lonely woman with needs. I guess reading through me like an open book, he used that knowledge to get what he wanted and leave it at that. 

After our little encounter, it took him 4 days before e-mailing me that he just didn’t see a future between us. I know I can be slightly scary, but a text is cheep, easy and safe to inform the other of your true intentions, and more importantly, it can be sent straight away!!! He did add that he wasn’t sure what he wanted, to which I replied he seemed to know exactly what he was after on that Friday night.

The story would end there if it wasn’t for a piece of evidence of our encounter and the fact that he used it to brag about our time together. And this is where I love my friends and their connections! Talking to my housemate’s boyfriend, I explained the situation. After telling me off for being so gullible, he mentioned knowing someone who works in that very DFS. A couple of weeks later, he sent me an email to inform me that his friend felt that the DFS man’s behaviour was just rude and had taken it upon himself to teach him a little lesson.

This is what he did: He first asked DFS guy if that girl he kept boasting about was French. Then added that 2 French guys had approached him in his local pub because they heard he worked at the store. They were enquiring if he knew DFS guy. They said they had come over from France to sort him out because he was bragging about his time with their cousin! Apparently, he was so spooked that he went off sick on the following day! Awww, sweet revenge. And I didn’t even ask for it!!! 

Finally, our last subject of the evening: Geoff

Now, I might be needy and desperate, but I am not totally stupid. No, really! I could see he wasn’t keen on seeing me again. What bothered me was that he just couldn’t bring himself to say so. Instead, he ignored my first text which read: “Thanks for meeting up, but I’m not sure if you’re interested. Shall I ring you in a few days or am I wasting my time?” This was his opportunity to reply: “Sorry, but I’m not interested.” And do you think he took that opportunity? I mean, how much bigger a carrot does one need? But nooooooooo, he just went on and ignored me. 

As I said earlier, I am not very clued on when it comes to men and their ways. And yes, I regularly make mistakes and pay the price. But, as I keep coming across a certain type of men, my big question is this: where did all the good men go? And please, please, please … don’t tell me they’re all taken!!!!! ;-)

Till the next lot , I’m signing out.

Rejection… Or how to feel like an evil…

I’ve just returned from a very poor dating experience. We met tonight at 6ish and instantly thought – Nah, this ain’t gonna happen. But, trying to be my kind self, and not wanting to judge a book by its cover, I decided to give it a chance. After all, he’s a photographer and into hiking, so we have some things in common which should make for interesting discussion, if nothing else, right?

Wrong. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so awkward and bored during a date. Usually, I can entertain myself by talking about me, that’s a subject that just never bores me, but even that wasn’t a prospect I felt like exploring. All I could think about was my fabulous comfy sofa, my big TV and what movie I might watch while having dinner… At Home!

Now, I wasn’t looking at my watch, but I was keeping an eye on the clock tower just across from us and couldn’t figure out how anyone could drink sooooo slowly. At first, I thought of texting my housemate and get her to ring me with an excuse for me to get out of there, but I didn’t find any opportunity to do it without him noticing. I also wanted to wait until he finished his drink to make my excuses, so we could leave together, but it just wasn’t coming fast enough and, when the clock’s long hand starting going backward, I felt it was my clue to take charge of the evening.

The large clock had just about reached 7 O’clock and I’d just given him an hour of my life. That … was … plenty. I leaned over, he copied me, and I said “Can I be honest?”... and without waiting for a response I added “I think I’m gonna go home.” I did feel sorry for him as his face fell. “I’m sorry, I added, but I think it’s best.” He started talking again – bringing up the fact that I was a little late - as if I hadn’t said anything. I gave him a second, then, after thanking him for coming to meet me, just said “I’m gonna go now. Bye.” And I left, leaving him behind, shell shocked with his half full drink.

Was that really bad? Should I have let him carry on? I’m not saying I’m better than him in any way, but he just wasn’t for me. And I much prefer letting him know straight away. That’s better than not turning up at all because, as you get to your date, you don’t like the look of someone… (Which happened to me on Sunday, by the way.) Or is it? Which of the two are the least painful, the least hurtful and the most respectful? When it comes to hurting someone’s feelings, rejection is right up there. So how do you do it without feeling like an evil bitch?

Walking Nan to the golden gates of Heaven.

I wrote this after coming back from my Nan’s funeral but never posted it. After posting a blog last night, I found it and felt it was time I shared those last memories of her with you. So this is for my Nan, who I miss dearly and talk to regularly, especially when it comes to cooking!!! I love you Nan.

I went home for my mother's 60th birthday in May, but I guess Nan had other plans for us. When I arrived on the Friday, although I was staying at Dad’s, we popped over to the hospital to see how Nan was feeling. She was diagnosed with breast cancer a couple of years ago, but at Christmas, they found she was now suffering from bone cancer. It had spread everywhere. After a few month of hospitalisation in her own home, she was transferred back into the geriatric annex of the local hospital at Easter. Mum had told me that she was really poorly and didn’t look herself much anymore. It’s amazing how, no matter how much you think you are warned, the shock of reality can be rather overwhelming. 

When I got to the door, I reached out behind me and took hold of my dad’s hand. As I walked in, I scanned the room. My granddad was sitting next to the bed, looking sad and in pain. The person lying next to him felt a million miles away. I recognised my Nan instantly, even though she was but a shell of herself, looking more fragile and petite than ever before. I felt the tears filling my eyes. I took a second to hold them back, held onto Dad a little longer then called my granddad out of his daze.

As he looked up, his face was filled with a huge smile. He got up, shook my Nan, telling her I was finally here and gave me a hug. I then turned to my Nan. Where was the broad shouldered woman I had seen just a couple of month earlier? What happened to that strong lady who used to look after her 4 grand-children without any fear? Where was my Nan? Her eyes turned to me and it felt like she took a moment to focus and concentrate on who I was. Then, came the smile. She smiled and held out her hand, which I took into mine and kissed. I sat close to the bed, my head against hers, as we both rested on her pillow. I told her of my life in Devon, my work, and everything else I could think about. Even though she barely spoke, she showed her awareness of me by squeezing my hand, kissing it and pulling me towards her as I talked. I spend 2 hours by her side. Sometimes talking non stop, sometimes just sitting there and holding her.

Too soon it was time to leave. My dad had left and I was going to use my granddad’s car while I was in France. As my granddad made his way to the car, I stayed behind for one more hug, one more minute with my Nan. I had never felt such importance in those small instants of life than at that very moment. And I had come to accept that this might very well be the last time she would be responsive. The end was near. I felt extreme sadness, I didn’t want her to leave, not yet, I wasn’t ready, nor were the rest of my family. Yet at the same time, knowing the pain she had been in over the last few months, knowing how far from her old self she now was and how much it was hurting her to have people see her like that, I put aside my selfish thoughts and said just before I left: “Don’t worry about us, Nan, we’ll be alright. And we’ll look after granddad. You do what you have to. If you’re ready to go, that’s ok with us. We love you.” 

As I talked, one single tear fell along her soft yet wrinkled cheek and she gave my hand a squeeze. I felt one tear running down my face, followed by another and could feel the flow of them rising to the surface, so I left. I didn’t want to burst into tears in front of her. The minute I was out of her room, the sadness overwhelmed me and I cried heavily for a couple of minutes. After composing myself, I met my granddad in the car, dropped him home and went back to Dad’s.

The following evening was my mum’s 60^th birthday party. On their way over, my cousin, his parents and my brother popped to the hospital to see Nan. She had barely reacted to their presence. My mother and aunt were finding it difficult to relax and enjoy the moment. My brother, my cousin and I decided to try and keep it fun despite it all. We raised our glasses to our Nan and had a few very good laughs, trying to ignore the thin veil of sorrow floating over us all. We managed to have a good time and everyone spent the night at mum’s.

Even though visits to Nan were only allowed in the afternoons, my aunt had arranged for us to visit her on the Sunday morning. Both my cousin and I had to leave after lunch time. I had a plane to catch in the afternoon and he had to make his way back to Switzerland, where he works. We all drove together, still buzzing from the night before. As we approach Nan’s room, one of the nurse stopped us in the hallway. I had met her on the Friday and had told her I was only here for a couple of days. She said to me what they had told my cousin before she left for her mission in February: “Say your goodbyes, she hasn’t got long left. It could be a question of days.” We braced ourselves and entered the room.

The shock was indescribable. In the 36 hours since I’d seen her, she had gone from being responsive and somewhat alert to … nothing. Her eyes barely opened again, she wasn’t responding to us in any way and, no matter how much I held her hand, I felt no real response from her. She was slipping away. Right there, I turned to my aunt and said “Forget the plane, I’m staying.” 

We called my mother and started to get organised. After going back to mum’s for what should have been lunch, we split up. My cousin and uncle left, as well as my brother. I took a moment to call work to inform them of the situation before Mum, my aunt, my step-dad and I went back to the hospital. I made a detour to go pick up my granddad and we stayed the rest of the afternoon at the hospital. I spent most of that time lying next to her, holding her hand and telling her how much we all loved her. Around 5, my mum accompanied her dad home and promised to keep him informed if anything was to happen.

Around 8, we went home for a quick break and returned within the hour. Around 11pm, we were wondering about going home. One of the night nurses came to talk to us and suggested that one of us could sleep with Nan – she had a spare bed in her room for such situation – or that, if we all wanted to go home, she would ring us if there was any changes. Nan had been stable all afternoon but they were keeping a very close eye on her. We all really needed a break. Spending this much time in a hospital ward, watching someone you love passing away does take it out of you. And since we were barely 15 minutes away, we gave them my mother’s and my aunt’s mobile numbers and left. 

Sleep didn’t come easily. First I cried. Then I wrote. Then I cried some more. Finally, around 2.30am, I dozed off. A split second later, or at least, that’s how it felt, Mum was waking me up, telling me the hospital had called and that we should go now if we wanted to be with her one last time. Within minutes, we were dressed and in the cars. The drive down felt like an eternity. When we arrived, the nurse walked with us into the room. Nan’s breathing was very irregular and it felt like she was making a huge effort to get it going. The nurse explained that they had removed all IVs except for the morphine. But then, after a few minutes, the nurse noticed Nan’s breathing regulating itself. “She’s calmer; she can sense you are here.” She said before leaving.

It is strange the things you talk about in those situations. Stranger still is that I can’t really remember what we talked about. I just remember being there, holding Nan’s hand, surrounded by my family. By 8am, Mum had to leave. Although she was in two minds over going to work, she was struggling so much, watching her own mother die, we agreed it would be best if she went now. She only needed to do half a day’s work so we promised to call her if anything happened. After all, Nan’s status hadn’t changed since we had got there at 4.30am. 

A little after she left with her husband, I noticed Nan’s hand had got really cold. As the nurse popped in to see if we wanted anything to eat or drink, I mentioned it to her. She felt Nan’s extremities and explained that her body was now only working on her vital organs. It was now a question of hours, not days, even though none of the medical staff would actually say that. My aunt text my mother and they agreed we would contact her if anything else changed. But Nan was hanging in there. Around 9am, we decided to go and get my granddad. I left my aunt with Nan and went to fetch him. The minute I explained what had happened, he had his coat on and was on his way out to the car.

Once back in the hospital room, I sat holding both Nan and Granddad’s hands. My aunt was trying to take her mind of things by playing solitaire on my phone. Around 9.15, she suddenly said “It’s over!?” We all looked at Nan. But she was still with us… Just. Her heavy and painful breathing had made way to a thin whispery breath. We called the nurse at once. This was it. She explained to us what might happen from now on. We called mum and my uncle who immediately jumped in their cars and started making their way back.

But Nan wasn’t planning on waiting. We sat around her bed, holding her hands, and, starting with my cousin who hadn’t been able to come back from her mission, we said goodbye to Nan from every one of us, reminding her how much we love her and how much we were going to miss her. As we finished with my granddad, she took one last breath and then, accompanied by her husband of over 60 years, one of her daughters and one of her grand-children … she just stopped.