Travel Monologue, Epilogue

After careful consternation and much soul searching I decided to replace the final escapade with a mixture of fact and conjecture. I felt there weren't enough germans in the prequel so this one can be loosely called "The Revenge Of the *insert name here*"

Eventually, after eighteen months of comitted procrastination and stoic residence I managed to lay my greasy mitts on a residence permit. It would've gone on longer but my powers of "doing it tomorrow" are no match for the belgian authorities.

Girlfriend sternly advised me to carry it at all times and I retorted "what?, that flimsy bit of card won't last a week!". So she bought me a protective plastic thingy to protect it, matron!
That was a mere two weeks ago and since then I've been looking for opportunities to flash my sheathed identity at the first official in address. With that in mind I determined to test the validity of Schengen along with my own propensity to being arrested or killed for the most unlikely reasons.

I always wanted to try my mobile phone on an aeroplane since I heard the only reason they don't allow it is that the cell providers can't sort out the charging. I'd do it but what if something happened?

It would be so embarrasing. What with all the people being smacked into the deep blue and all that, I don't know if I could live with it. What would the neighbours think?

St Peter: Just not your day is it? First you downed an Airbus, killing everyone on board, though I'll let you off the four illegals hiding in the landing gear. They were probably frozen already unless they were foreign, those foreign types are a jolly inventive lot. Not to be trusted at all. Nevertheless, you're in the wrong queue, heathens shouldn't be queueing here.
Me: Well where am supposed to queue then mister St?
SP: What ID have you got?
Me: Just my Belgian residence permit, is that ok?
SP: Belgian eh? You need to queue over there.
Me: Noooooooooooh! I'm stuck in Etterbeek for all eternitje!

JJ

Travel Monologue, the Third

Got up at 7am, washed dressed packed, did the auto checkout, skipped breakfast and headed for the 8am presentation. Boss called and told me the Sydney trip is postponed, you can sneak back out of the luggage Shaz. I was expecting that, they've been brewing trouble down under for a few days.

Lunch was going to be swordfish steak but the fella in front of me took the last one. I couldn't wait for them to bring another tray, "time is monkey!" I cried and sidled up to the beef stroganoff, like a crab approaching a bottom shaped rock. 5.15pm, taxi to Paddington, Heathrow express to err, Heathrow. The self check-in machine rejected me so grinningly I jumped the apparently static Fast Bag Drop queue and got checked in without queueing at all, arrived at the gate with 3 minutes 22 seconds to spare - good job I brought a book.

I must have been the last to check-in, I got a middle seat in the last row, there was only one thing on my mind now, chilled red wine and lots of it, go on call me a philistine I've earned it.

I had a strange dream a few days ago about the landing in Oslo, the plane veered off to the left and then spun violently right, I woke up. It's kind of been festering in the back of my mind but it's ok now, nothing like that happened. They have parquet floors, beats the jelly beans out of that fake marble in most airports. Nice airport, I was impressed the cash machine let me input the amount in euros and showed what the equivalent Kroner would be. I didn't expect it to actually give me euros, so I went around again and took the Kroner equivalent out. Then it dawned on me, if the machine gives euros then it must be ok to... oh buggering bollocks!

It's 4 degrees outside, the captain said it might snow but it didn't. By the time I'd refunded one hour to the Greenwich Mean Timekeeper and slipped the cabbie 640 kroner it was 11.15pm. The Hotel restaurant was shut, the receptionist pointed me to the little shop in the foyer, there was some kind of odd Nordic look in his eye and I suspected it wasn't pride. I was right, dinner was a triangle-pack ham salad sarnie and a bag of crisps, "bon apetite" I said to myself sitting on my bed in the shoebox they laughingly call a hotel room. I put the tv on and found one of those Clint Eastwood and the Orang-u-tan movies, perfect, something I haven't seen since I was a kid. Regression therapy, bring it on! Just as I'd accepted the fact that they were showing such a crappy old film on Norwiegan tv, firmly sand-blasting the novelty off my first trip to Oslo, The Caption came up. Apparently, this is pay per view!! ehh? I suppose they must get a lot of tourists from Lapland, the Moose Family Gundersson perhaps.

Side note to Clint: why? why? for the love of Elvis, why? (did anyone see that wierd documentary last night about the medium who claims Elvis is doing karaoke through him? Bloody idiot.)

Well, the epic round the world voyage turned into a jaunt round 'yerp. I'll get to Sydney later but my friends from blighty won't be there, that's a shame. I'd better find the address I'm supposed to go to in the morning and get some sleep, I hope it's not far I'm a bit low on Kroner('s?).

JJ

Travel Monologue, the Second

Today's haul: two minature cars (one won in competition), a golf ball (competition), memory stick, powerball(comp), pda usb charger, hot drink keep-it-warm mug/flask, SIP for Dummies book. Several bottles of Beck's and glasses of reasonable wine, nibbles and a few attempts at nintendo wii golf/tennis plus assorted bidness cards from people who I hope to firmly exclude from my "network".

I've been building my network for many years and I'm very particular about who I let in. So far I've got an imaginary gin salesman from Saudi Arabia who never speaks, an old man who meets me in pubs all around the world and takes on the persona of a local old man who hangs around the pub all day, a whippet who keeps saying "I could've been a contender", a hat, a skinny old woman with too much make-up who keeps telling me I look like Michael Jackson and a scandinavian businessman with a gold tooth who seems to think I'm gay - "not that there's anything wrong with that" (Sienfeld).

if plastic was chocolate I'd be a lion,
if conjurers were gods I'd be a priest,
if imagination was money I'd eat cake,
if I could listen to my heart, I'd could sleep,

if I've laughed a thousand times I've cried a million,
if I've loved a dozen times I've fooled myslef,
if dreams were paper prints I'd be a poet,
if my heart could listen to me, I'd sleep forever.

JJ

Travel Monologue, the First

16 April, waiting at departures gate B04.

Seems the walky talkies are broken so the crew are having to shout accross the runway and around the gates to communicate:

gate-man to pilot: "STATUS CHECK CAPTAIN!, TEN MINUTES TO BOARDING"

pilot: "WE GOT THE SOGGY SARNIES, WE'RE WE'RE JUST WAITING FOR THE RED WINE TO GET PROPERLY CHILLED, IT'LL BE A GOOD HALF HOUR YET"

Gate-man to departure desk: "THEY'VE BROUGHT WARM WINE AGAIN, BLOODY BELGIANS, WE'LL BE TWENTY MINUTES LATE."

Desk to passengers": "LADIES AND GENEAL MEN!! THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING TO FLY WITH BADGER'S ARSE, THE MINIMUM WAGE AIRLINE. WE HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR FLIGHT!! WE REGRET TO ANNOUNCE THERE WILL BE A FIVE MINUTE DELAY DUE TO TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES!"

Passengers in unison: "FIVE MINUTES? THAT'S NOT EVEN LONG ENOUGH FOR A PISS, EVEN IF I COULD FIND THE TOILET IN THIS RIDICULOUS RATS WARREN"

desk: "THE TOILETS ARE CLEARLY MARKED, YOU DOZY FUCKWIT!"

passengers: "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A DOZY FUCKWIT? YOU WANNA PIECE OF ME? YOU WANNA PIECE OF ME? COME AND GET IT!!"

desk: "EVERYBODY FREEZE! LET HIM WHO IS NOT ON EXPENSES CAST THE FIRST STONE! OR I'LL EXECUTE EVERY LAST MUTHAFUCKING ONE OF YOU!"

gate-man: "OK, OPEN THE GATES!"

desk: "WE ARE NOW BOARDING ROWS ONE TO FOUR, THE REST OF YOU CAN TRY IT ON IF YOU'RE IN THE MOOD"

Finally we shuffled onto the plane. I was two rows behind the good seats, just enough to hear the clanging of cutlery while I struggled with the vacumm packed remains of what allegedly was once a chicken, now presented in a suspiciously strong sauce and enough coriander to induce wretching in a very large dog. This, I would like to wash down with a cuppa, so I grabbed one of the tiny milk tubs, pulled the tab and sprayed uht all over the back of the middle seat (I've really lost count of the number of times I've done that). Luckily, the middle seat was empty but the man in the aisle noticed, he glanced at me but I was too busy cleaning. I could've told him he had milk on his trousers and shoe, but I decided against it. He was drinking chilled red wine, the philistine!

Eventually, the flight went without too much perspiration and I skipped the trapesing across London to find myself at the Hilton. A surprisingly ordinary hotel. After far too long struggling with the internet connection, I noted my Service Desk ticket number and retired to the bar to watch cricket - are rare pleasure these days. With Australia on 121 for 3, I returned to my room to find the internet stubbornly indifferent so I called the past-helpdesk again. They delightedly informed me they'd decided to fast-track my solution and move me to another tomb. The bit between the lines says they didn't have a clue, so they gave up trying to fix it and just moved me to a room where the connection works, ok whatever.

I had to pack everything again to move thirty metres and get a t.v. dinner.

There ends the first installment but there was one other unethpectded twist that might lay waste to this whole adventure yet...

JJ

(this story is based on true and factual events, some of which are made up, but the rest of it's true)