I have had a hectic few weeks, hence not much blog activity.
I am writing this under the most arduous of circumstances, and I know that you, dear reader, would exchange places with me in a trice to extricate me from this hell on earth.
I will fill you in with the pain and anguish I have undergone building up to this moment, so you get the full unvarnished truth, which you know is a failing of mine.
It all began about 18 hours ago when I left home to get to Heathrow on the other side of London. An arduous trek at the best of times, but this was the worst. I just missed a train by seconds at Mile End, which wasn’t going where I wanted to, and the next one was minutes away was exactly the train I needed. Then I changed at Barons Court and the train that was already in the station was only going as far as Northfields and I had to wait about two minutes for the next train which was going to Terminal 3.
Not content with this sorry saga of depression, I checked in and got my reserved First Class seat, 1A with no problem at all. As I was well and truly very early with my margin of error to kill, I chose to go through security. This has been the only true ray of sunshine in the entire experience. I got the bitch troll from hell to check my bag which failed the security check. She made Eva Braun look like Joan of Arc. Anyway, after that joyous delay in the trip I felt obliged to go to the lounge set aside for premium customers. You know how it is, they are expecting you, it’s impolite to let them down.
As a First Class passenger, I was entitled to be ferried on one of those horrid beep-beep buggies fro the lounge to the gate. So I had to go through that farago. I got to the gate just as they were announcing the boarding for premium passengers and I had to walk through the hoards of assembled peasantry who were overjoyed to wait for us lot to get out the way.
Once on board and with the exchange of Sawadee over and done with, (isn’t it dreadful when people are polite to you and you feel obliged to be polite in retirn?) I was getting myself together when the stewardess (sorry, I am old fashioned) pounced and forced me to drink a glass of champagne. I buckled myself in and was given my Thai Royal First pyjamas so my clothes wouldn’t be all crumpled. The food was brought I ate it, again for politeness sake. After eating I picked up my pyjama bag and the bloody steward insisted on making up the bed for me. I mean, please, do I look the sort that needs to be waited on? So I pretended to sleep soundly for several hours. When I “awoke” I had to ask for my clothes which had been neatly hung up and were waiting for me in the toilet to change back into. Of course there was the final meal on board to get through. More bloody sacrifices. After the crew being incredibly polite I then had the ignominy of getting off the plane by the First Class passenger exit only while the rest of the passengers cheerfully bade us farewell with joy in their hearts, only too happy to wait for us to disembark before them.
That, you would think, would have been the end of this farce. No. It got worse. You see, I arrived as a First Class passenger, but I was transferring to a flight that has business as its premium offering. Hooray! True discomfort in the business lounge awaits. I was to be let down most dreadfully. There was a person waiting for me, my name was on a special list, to whisk me off to the transit area for the security check on a specially buggy that looks like an old time car. I am very upset to report that my bag was not turned inside out, unlike at Heathrow by the PMT cow. From there I had to walk the 30 metres or so to be escorted into, yes you guessed, the First Class bloody lounge, as I arrived as a First Class passenger, despite the fact my connection is on to a business fare. Despite my pleadings and protestations I am in a comfortable room, by myself, typing this tale of woe.
If there is anybody out there, who is moved to tears by my plight, please make your way immediately to Bangkok airport and save me fro this hell on earth. Although you are generous to a fault, dear reader, I don’t blame you if you turn down this heartfelt plea. Is there no mercy, no clemency, no forgiveness? What did I do to deserve all this?
