Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Fly and become

They mean well, they try hard, they look good and they eventually get you there. Planes with propellers that is, real ones that make a turboprop noise and swirl their blades in defiance of the blue sky and anything daft enough to get too close. My regular runs with Flybe continue and in a new peak of reliability and punctuality they have not let me down since September. That dangerous thing known as confidence is starting to form, like ice on wing tips and control surfaces. I will be back some time shortly and hope to find the blades still turning on time.

Flybe have also opened a curious new cupboard known as the "executive lounge" down by Gate 15 in Edinburgh Airport. Simply key in a PIN number and find yourself greeted by a canteen atmosphere, a pile of crisp packets and snacks designed to tempt the tired traveller and a queer looking coffee machine. There is little in either style or ambiance to separate this haven from the rest of the terminal and it will never be any kind of travel Mecca as it only could cope with about 25 brave souls at any given time but it's a start - so where is the finish and why was the red wine uncorked at 6 o'clock this morning?

While I'm moaning about Edinburgh Airport it's time something was done about the huge cheesy pictures and crap quotations that tower over the long pedestrian travelator that takes you to the east end. Posed, awful and artificial, these photos suck like an Irn Bru lolly (just look at the clean cut he-men drinking whisky in what looks like a bar set up in an air brushed studio) - welcome to Scotland.

I'm not in love with motorways either or the behaviour that is exhibited there, it's like a stretched out wrestling bout with oddly matched competitors trying to beat you or scare you out of the safe place you want to sit in, which is left of a broken white line most of the time. Today I was passed on the inside by a speed camera van, the driver oblivious to his own under-taking and the fact that he was doing 85 while I queued in the fast lane at 71 or so. Aren't our policemen (on traffic duty anyway) some kind of wonderful thing?

impossible songs

impossible songs

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