A feast of traditional Yorkshire food

 Like all food, regional diversity in Yorkshire is no exception.

 Of course, everyone knows about Yorkshire puddings, or do they?

A Yorkshire pudding is not some soggy sponge like batter that you eat with your

Sunday roast, but a light, fluffy, crispy cup like dough that is filled with gravy.

A real insult to a Yorkshire person is to serve the Yorkshire pudding with the main course. It should be eaten alone as a starter. The reason for this is pure Yorkshire. Fill ’em up with Yorkshire pudding and they won't want as much main course! Thriftiness is a Yorkshire trait always to be followed!

Of course, if you come from Nottinghamshire, you would eat your Yorkshire pudding with jam as a dessert. But then again, they're really daft from down there!

A variation on the Yorkshire pudding is “toad in the hole”, a large Yorkshire pudding with sausage embedded in the mix. Very filling.

Then there are kippers, another essentially Yorkshire fish delicacy. In my youth, my brother and I would visit Whitby., walk across the bridge to the east side to buy kippers from Nobles, the fishmonger. You know you're in the right area because there were those sheds emitting a lot of smoke, the curing houses. A kipper, for the uninitiated, is a smoked herring. It is gutted, flattened out and hung up to smoke.

We ate ours for breakfast, best poached and sometimes with the poached on top. Delicious.

Another Yorkshire rarity is the pikelet, which in the south they call a crumpet. It is a griddle bread made from flour., water and yeast. Like a pancake but thicker and full of holes. Best toasted and loaded with butter as a breakfast delight.

 Then there is Yorkshire Brack, a moist fruit cake not unlike English Christmas

cake. But with a difference. The dried fruit are first soaked in Yorkshire tea not alcohol before mixing and baking to produce a fruit loaf.

 

 

 

 

What about Yorkshire tea, blended in Harrogate and producing a strong cuppa.

Finally, Yorkshire, like many northern regions, likes afternoon tea.

It is a meal around 4:00 PM served in many hotels and especially tea rooms. Those special afternoon cafes offering cafes offering cakes, pikelets and the final

Yorkshire Delight, the Curd Cheesecake. Sometimes called Yorkshire Curd Tart. Made of fresh curd and including currants and egg, it tops off a fine afternoon tea.

Enjoy.

The irritation of getting old

 You know yourself, that you are getting older. Your knees do not work as they used to. They're not as flexible, for example going downstairs you need to hold onto the rail. You are short of breath if you attempt to run, I should say hobble to catch the bus.

Worse still you notice you do not have the physical strength that you had, and you start to have arthritic pain in your shoulders and fingers.

Such is your state now!

You are mentally sharp although your short-term memories come and go. You tire more quickly, and afternoon siesta has become a welcome break. You accept all of this; you have to as there is little you can do about it!

Adapt to survive has become your watchword.

Add extra time to reach the bus, Do physical work in shorter periods with plenty of rest time.  It works.

 But it is not your discovery of how your body ages which is the most annoying. It is how people change their behaviour towards you that becomes most irritating.

You must be tired, why don't you take a nap. That's too heavy for you to lift. Think of your knees. These statements are meant in good faith, but firmly place you in the category of old!

Your younger colleagues do not seem to be so available, often excusing themselves. Your offspring are weary of your opinions, you are old fashioned, Dad, you don't understand!

Amongst your peers, the topic of conversation often ends up on health issues. How many times you must go to the toilet in the night. Should you be concerned about pains in the arms. Have you tried natural health prescriptions for cholesterol, etc etc.

 Are we returning to our childhood when everything was better!

 Oh dear, what a predicament.

Group travel

 

Trials and tribulations at the airport

Lately we have been using group travel to travel abroad instead of all the planning necessary when you do it yourself. It is convenient and you meet interesting people also in the group. The downside is that the itinerary is decided, and timing is sometimes not convenient.

Take our last trip to Puglia in southern Italy in October.

The travel instructions stated that we meet up at the airport at 0515, that is very early for us and necessitated an overnight stay in an airport hotel.

Early morning in the airport was chaos, it seems that all charter companies have early morning departures. We rush to find a free check-in automat, no friendly face just a machine that seems to demand an ever-increasing number of personal details before spewing out baggage tags and boarding passes. Pushed out of the queue by impatient persons behind us we found a free space to attach our baggage tags and store our baggage id tags, not in your passport at it tears up the pages but, in a wallet, or handbag.

Then join a long queue for what is called “baggage drop” which in reality is another self-service action to place your baggage on the conveyor and ensure you have used the barcode reader correctly. Will it go or will it not. Stress, stress, stress. I thought this was a holiday!

And we are not finished yet! A slowly moving crocodile of people shedding water bottles passes through a security check-in to join another queue for depositing personal items for security examination.

Off with coats, hats, belts, and wallets, take electronic equipment out of the hand luggage. Must remember a Kindle is considered an electronic item. Do not want my tray to end up in the “investigate further” lane.

For me with two artificial knees, there is always a beep as I pass through the electronic gate, beep and I am guided to another electronic search gate where a particular stance is required with feet apart and hands over your head. I feel like a criminal being body searched but I know it is for my own safety.

All is OK and I can go through and pick up my belongings, find a free space to dress myself, place all my personal belongings back in my bag, check I have not forgotten anything, and I am free to enter the airport.

All I really want to do is lie down and have a rest but this is “holiday” so I guess a coffee and baguette will have to do before we start another round of search for our gate and boarding of the aircraft.

Some start to what is supposed to be a relaxing holiday. I wonder when that will come!

 

Early School Days

 Robin Hoods Bay

My first recollection of school was around 1945 when I would be 5 years old. We lived in my grandfather’s large house in Robin Hoods Bay, a small fishing/farming community on the NE coast of Yorkshire.

Robin Hoods Bay was really divided in two, those that lived at the bottom of the bank in the old village and those that lived at the top of the bank.

Grandfather was a successful Captain, like many men in “the Bay” who bought new and expensive houses at the top of the bank. Our house, “Lincoln” had a large garden adjacent to the car park, a pantry, a “poshtub” in an outhouse where clothes were heated in a water bowl before being poshed, rinsed, and hug out to dry and a set of room indicators over the entrance hall inked to each room. The idea was that this was an indicator for servants where there was a request for service. Not sure why we had them as we had no servants!!

School was in the hamlet of Thorpe some one kilometre away up two steep hills, Donkey bank and Thorpe bank to an imposing stone building on the outskirts of Thorpe on the way up to Fylling Dales. We did this all-year-round summer, winter, sun, and rain.

The school was run by a man and wife teacher duo that lived onsite, so it paid to be on time, a demanding target most days!

There was no bus so we had to walk and often my brother and I would join up with the Lawson children as we made our way to school. That meant we often got up to some pranks on the way or on the way back.

I have absolutely no recollection of the teaching we received which might say something about my ability to learn or the content we were presented with. Remember this was late 1940’s and I was only seven or eight years old.

However, paradoxically I do remember some of the incidents that occurred on our trips to and from school.

One was the winter of 1947, one of the worst on record. It snowed for a week and left snowdrifts telegraph pole high. Snow clearing took a long time in coming.

However we must go to school so off we went on this winter adventure. After wading through knee high snow up Donkey Bank we came to a giant snowdrift outside the Vicarage on Thorpe Lane completely blocking the road.

Tunnelling through it was the only option if we where to get to school so without regards to safety we excitingly we buried down to the asphalt road and onward through the snowdrift to emerge some two metres later. What an adventure even though we were by now soaking wet.

So we arrived at school shivering and found we were the only ones to make it. Yes! Success!

However, our elation was short-lived as the teacher made us take off our clothes and hang them over the large potbellied stove in the corner of the room to dry. Once dry we dressed ourselves and were sent home as the school would be closed for two weeks until the snow melted sufficiently so that children from the outlying farms could reach school, experiencing that our snowdrift tunnel had survived so we arrived a little less wet than our outward journey.

Three years later we moved to a new house in Middlesbrough, and I was to attend Whinney Banks junior school.

The transition from village school in Robin Hoods Bay to a large junior school in a large town was a huge step for a ten-year-old boy.

Now there were classes of 20-30 pupils and a class timetable with different teachers and subjects such as PT and RI. What are they?

Physical training (PT) took place in a gymnasium with lots of apparatus that we had to use such as climbing ropes. We had to change for this class into shorts and sports shirt and plimsoles on our feet. These were black soft soled trainers.

Religious Instruction (RI) was quite different and very difficult to grasp. Here we were to focus on the Bible, both the old and new testaments and learn by heart the ten commandments. These lessons were often in a coded language relating to evils, sins, and heaven. All very difficult for a happy go lucky ten-year-old.

Then there were breaks as they were called, a sort of pause between classes when we could go out in the playground and meet up with our newfound pals and have fun. I must say fun often meant taunting other pupils, called bullying today!

It was in one of these breaks that I came across my first sighting of a boy “of colour”. I think he was either from Pakistan or India but spoke with a broad Middlesbrough accent. My first contact with multiculturalism.

We got free lunch when we could sit together in a huge canteen. The food was not very exciting consisting of stews and boiled vegetables and even worse semolina pudding that we called “frogs’ eyes” as the semolina popped in the custard.

My time at Whinney Banks was short as I was about to face my next educational hurdle, the “11 plus exam”. Success here would open opportunity to enter grammar school and eventually could lead to university. Failure meant attending secondary school and picking up a trade to follow.

Terminal observations

 GATWICK AIRPORT

You see humanity at its best and worst at airports in holiday times. Gatwick is such a place in August. Queues for everything but the stolid English acceptance of crowdiness means patience is needed. No shouting, jumping queues even when they exceed the tramlines put down for such an event. No, all nationalities seem to take on that English attitude of of resignation as they join those neverending queues.

All nationalities are here and in all shapes and sizes as I found out when a rather large lady sat down on one of those linked seating arrangements. All though she was three seats from me I was catapultged into the air and returned with a thud. Good job I was not drinking tea!

Another thing, everyone is using their mobiles. With faces glued to their minature screens they provide translations, directions and even security clearance and boarding tickets  for aircraft and trains. Thank goodness I bought an "eticket" for the  train and avoided a somewhat long physical queue for paper tickets.

READING TRAIN STATION

Sat down to wait with a "Starbucks" coffee. Opposite were a young couple. The girl, dressed in a beige "jumpsuit" had red nails, long eyelashes and never stopped looking at herself in, yes you guessed it, her mobile. Reckon she is one of those "influencers" who try to advise us on everything under the sun and for which they earn a commission! Suddenly, she started to make a video with her mobile with all sorts of different facial expressions. Weird! Then she reached into her jumpsuit pocket extracted something and put it to her mouth and then exhaled and a stream of smoke issued from her nostrils! Must have been "vaping", the modern form of smoking. Alongside was an expensive set of suitcases adorned by a large teddy bear. All of this oblivious of things around her.

In contrast, a lone females backpacker looking dishevelled, tired and muddy smiles at me as she sits down at the next table, extracts her mobile and has a telephone conversation.

What a contrast.

Suddenly an employee of Starbucks tells an abusive customer to leave and such is the explosive nature of it that I spill my latte down my shirt!

A mother with two young girls in straw hats with roses in them pick up sandwiches  and drinks "to go". A tired looking grandmother tags on behind. Wonder where they are going as Reading station is a crossover for many lines. Cardiff, Camarthon, Penzance, Bristol, Birmingham, Cheltenhap Spa. Who knows.

Two elderly sisters in white summer dresses eat chocolate biscuits wrapped in gold wrappers whilst intermittently chatting and checking their mobiles.

Have we lost the art of non digital communication!

The Doctor's surgery waiting room

In the old days when you were unwell or sick you rang the doctor, and he came to your home. He was called the family doctor and everyone in the family used the same doctor. There was close bond between the family and this single doctor. He might prescribe medication or recommend specialist examination or a trip to the hospital. Medication required a prescription that he wrote out on the spot in handwriting. A trip to the chemist was required to get the medicine or pills.

Today that has all changed. If you feel unwell you must make a journey to the doctor’s surgery unless it is an emergency and then an ambulance will come and take charge.

A doctor’s surgery today is more like a small treatment centre with nurses, laboratories, and a host of specialist doctors. You have your own personal doctor that you choose and who remains your doctor over time.

To see the doctor you must first book online through the national health service. This requires passwords and security checks before you come your doctor’s calendar where you choose a free fifteen-minute slot. Yes, a fifteen-minute slot is the initial planned contact time that can change on circumstances. This is important as the schedule slips throughout the day. It is therefore wise to book a slot early in the day unless you are prepared to wait up until one hour after the planned time and pay extra parking fees for your car. So today, the responsibility is yours to get into the doctor’s surgery at your own costs. After that your national health plan should cover your requirements.

You enter the reception area where a notice informs you that if you already have an appointment, you can go directly and sit outside your doctor’s office. The problem is with reduced seating because of covid this is not as easy as it seems.

Once seated and your mobile is in vibration mode it is time t look around. After all a doctor’s waiting room is a window on humanity.

There is an anxious elderly couple opposite holding hands. Hope they get some good news. Next to me is a young mother with a sick baby who cries and cries and cries. We all smile and make gurgling sounds in an attempt to be friendly and perhaps a little helpful.

Down the waiting room is a worker with his hand covered in a bandage talking to a colleague in a foreign language, possibly Polish.

There is a quite different atmosphere here, it is palpable, people are anxious over concern for their wellbeing.

Suddenly a door opens a nurse shouts a name and waits for a response. No response so the door closes, and we subside into a state of anticipation, what next. The same door opens again, and another name is shouted down the corridor. Here, shouts a young women dressed in very fashionable clothes with a Gucci bag over her shoulder, and she disappears into the room and the door marked “laboratory” closes. What happens in the laboratory, I wonder? Five minutes later I have an answer. A man comes out in shirtsleeves clutching a plaster in his elbow crook. Blood tests is what happens in the laboratory.

It constantly amazes me what is learnt from an analysis of our blood. A few days after a blood test an email arrives with a cryptic comment from the doctor. ”All OK for your age”! This accompanied with a technical sheet with values for undecipherable symbols and the normal expected range for that condition. After a search on the Internet you learn what the symbols mean!

Technology is at the heart of our health system. You can login and check the status of medication and even renew it online. Messages from the doctor are there and expiry dates of current medication.

A trip to the chemists to pick up what the doctor has prescribed only needs you to show you ID foe the chemist to check what is available for you.

So much has changed but the doctor’s surgery remains that place you might fear most, perhaps after the dentist!

The supermarket run

For pensioners

As pensioners we constantly adapt to keep up with daily life. Such is the case with supermarkets. No longer is it easy to find a friendly local butcher, greengrocer, or baker. We shop in a giant warehouse, often out of town, that they call either a shopping centre or a supermarket. This requires different strategies to successfully complete our purchases that fit our needs and pocket.

Timing is also important. Avoid the commuter rush and especially the “after work” peak to the supermarket. Late morning, early afternoon is best, there is more parking space!

Parking is the next challenge. Do I need to find an automat, have I got the right app or is it all done automatically by cameras. Getting it right is important to avoid a heavy fine.

Is this a big shop requiring a trolley or a small shop where a basket is enough. The result of the decision determines whether you can use the “self-checkout” or not. No trollies in self-checkout. Today it is a basket shop.

The one-way system for walking in the shopping centre has been abolished now covid is no longer a threat and we do not need to wear masks anymore, good job really as I have forgotten mine.

Am I ready for this expedition? Yes, mobile in left pocket, glasses in the right pocket and wallet with shopping list in the back pocket, car keys in my jacket pocket. Time to enter the fray!

Push through the entry gate narrowly avoiding a determined lady pushing her empty trolly aggressively into the narrow entrance. Time to “gird my loins” and prepare for battle. Not sure where I got that phrase from, but it seems appropriate to this challenge.

Get a clean basket without paper advertisements in it and step outside of the mainstream of people to plan my route through the supermarket. The best place to do this is by the bread shelves. OK, best to start with our meal today as often there are queues around the meat and fish counters and especially the cooked foods. There is not a queue but a lot of people pushing against the long counter trying to attract the attention of a counter person! Not sure that is the right term for someone behind the fish counter, but it will do. Next, shouts one of these persons and I raise my hand but to no avail as the young upwardly mobile lady with sunglasses perched on the top of her head behind me shouts “me” and pushes in front. So the battle has started. Shall I complain? No, not worth it let her go and then perhaps I can get the fresh fish wok in front of me. First item on the list completed so retire to plan the next move. As it is a basket on my arm it is important to leave the heavy objects until the last so it will be “pålegg”, the things you put on your bread or Ryvita. Today we need ham and cheese. Problem is ham is in one location and cheese in another! There are hundreds of hams in plastic wrappers, not only ham but turkey, beef, chicken, and some of indeterminate origin. What to choose? Should I use price as a guide or not. Impulsively I grab the nearest packet of slices of ham and quickly vacate the space as a “browser” nudges me with his trolley, a clear sign I am in his way.

Having been here before I have a good navigation plan in my head, first fruit, then vegetables and finally milk and juice, the heavy items. Wait a minute there are two other items, mango chutney and desiccated coconut. Where on earth are they? Those overhead signs are no good either as they are so general. Will mango chutney be in “Asian foods” or spices and herbs” and desiccated coconut in “baking” or “spices” wherever that is. Must ask for assistance. Now there is a challenge. I have often found myself addressing a customer rather than an employee by mistake! Must look for the uniform. Start scouting around the aisles and find someone stacking goods on shelves. Just as I reach them and wait patiently for him to finish and turn around, one of those military type pensioners with moustache and chequered shirt over a worn jacket shouts “you there, where is the butter section”? The reply is interesting. Try section 8 over there the employee shrugs and responds. No thank you from the military type just a shrug of the shoulders and some unheard comment as he stalks off. The employee turns to me and asks, “How can I help you? Follow me he responds to my question and takes me to both sites I had visited earlier and points out the products! I felt such an idiot not spotting them before but there are so many bottles and packages to scrutinise.

Shopping list completed and basket now heavy I navigate towards self-checkout. I head into a free station and plop my basket down on. I never know which side I should place the basket as someone once told me they weigh the basket and contents and compare it with what you move over to the other side. However, I am not sure this is true as I had bread from the bread shop and I did not get a red light, a warning or intervention by a watchful supervisor. Relatively easily go through the basket followed by beeps as each product is identified and priced. Then the dreaded moment, the bar code cannot be read, and the identifying digital code underneath the product is too small and unreadable. Press the help button, and an overhead flashing red summons the supervisor and makes me somewhat conspicuous and feeling like an idgit. With quick movements through the online menu my product is found and registered. That only leaves those fruit and vegetables without bar codes. Problem is there are many banana items, and I cannot identify the loose ones I chose. Click for the first one, hoping it is right and move on. Time to pay and respond that I need one plastic bag feeling a little guilty that I did not choose paper bags or that I forgot to bring a bag from home. Payment with Google pay, and my mobile is so much simpler than dragging out credit cards and scanning them. Pick up my bag and receipt and us it to exit the supermarket exhausted. What I need now is a large flat white coffee and a sticky bun!

 

 

Surviving entry into a foreign country

 

Surviving entry into a foreign country

The plane came to a stop and the seatbelt signed pinged and switched off. It was if it signalled the start of a race or the commencement of a rugby scrum! People pushed and shoved, climbed over seated persons to reach the aisle, and establish a place in a queue for a cabin door that was not even open! Overhead bin doors flew open and without any regard to people below dragged out their luggage and forced a place in the queue for it. If their baggage was not adjacent to their seat, they pushed past with the determination of a scrum forward without apology or concern for others. What is it in us that brings out this behaviour?

Having checked in baggage I knew there was no need to rush so sat back and enjoyed the debacle of sensible people reduced to a rabble in their urge to leave the plane.

The door opened and the pushing started but also a sense of decency returned as people waited for others to rise and exit their seats. Soon the pace of exit reduced to a trickle, and we rose, collected our bags, checked we had not left anything in the seat pockets and left, thanking the air hostesses for their service.

Outside the aircraft there were a couple of guys just watching us as we went up the ramp. They were in civilian clothes, and it looked as though they were customs or immigration checking us out!

Came to the top of the ramp and then came the information overload. Signs for everything in all directions! Stopped, got bumped by passengers behind me as they raced for the exit but finally deciphered the two most important signs we needed, baggage reclaims and toilets! Then started a long walk with escalators and left and right turns until we came to a large sign that read “You are now entering the UK border control area! More intimidating than welcoming. More signs separating Europeans from non-Europeans, so we chose the queue for Europeans and prepared ourselves for the automatic electronic scan system with my passport. Chose my UK passport and stepped onto the yellow footprints on the floor, removed my cap and inserted my passport into the scanner. No response as I waited and waited. Reread the instructions and began to panic thinking of all the people behind me in the queue getting impatient. Still no response from the machine. In desperation I turned the passport upside down and bingo it worked, and a picture of my face was taken and the gate to the UK opened.

One down 2 to go.

The baggage hall was enormous, and an overhead screen announced that our baggage would arrive on belt two. Dutifully checked the belt signs and walked down the hall. The belt was stationery and the overhead sign said last bag on the belt for passengers from Stockholm. A guy removed all the last remaining bags and there began the scrum to be nearest to the chute ejecting the bags onto the belt. Never mind the yellow safety lines just get close to the belt seemed to be the objective. Having learnt the folly of such a move I went to the other end of the belt were there were less people. Suddenly a light came on over the belt and a bell sounded and everyone became agitated, the bags are coming and so they did. Everything from large well wrapped packages to rucksacks and suitcases that had not survived the baggage handlers and were disgorging their contents on the belt!

Round and round went the bags, saw that red one last time round, where is my small black suitcase with a red address label? There it is, so excused myself and got to the front and extracted the suitcase.

Now for the next hurdle, customs. Choose the green channel passing two nonchalant customs officers leaning against the wall with their eyes everywhere. I wonder what they are looking for. Passed by the inspection area and could not help a peep into it and sure enough there was a family with large suitcases having to unpack them for inspection.

A sliding door opened, and we had entered the UK and it was complete chaos. People lined up against a barrier with name tags or just searching for faces, happy reunions and business people being rushed away to their booked transport.

Again information overload and we scanned for car rentals and followed the signs. More confusion as we must take a lift down to the next level. Remembered where the car rental office was and headed for it only to find it was a building site and we were redirected to the multistorey carpark second level.

There we were met by a friendly attendant who led us to our little Fiat 500 and after checking it for damage we were off or were we. How do we get out of this place!

 

 

 

 

Surviving the flight

 

Surviving the flight

“Go to gate” said the overhead screen as we drank our coffee in the departure lounge. We know what that means so we did not hurry to finish the coffee but slowly wandered to the gate and saw what we expected. A queue had already formed even after the departure attendant had said that boarding would not start for ten minutes.

However, I have learnt to watch this departure official in the past. Just before announcing boarding, they go down to the aircraft to check all is ready. As there were a few seats left from persons choosing to queue we sat down and watched.

Sure enough she returned and announced that they would be boarding families with children first. Did this deter the queue, not at all and the young families had to push their way to the front to board. A sort of rugby scrum approach.

Then she declared they would be boarding the rear seating passengers first and again the queue remained, and everyone pushed and shoved to get through irrespective of seat number. We waited until most persons had boarded knowing that overhead baggage space might now be limited.

Boarding is a stop go experience as persons find their seat extract their belongings and gear for the flight and restow their bag in the overhead bins. No amount of pleas from the flight attendant to sit down asap changes that. Everyone has their own pace. Experience has taught me to extract my book and gear as I walk down the aisle so I can sling my bag in a vacant space in the overhead bin and move straight into my seat without disturbing too many people. However, we had a plan.

From past experience we had learnt that in three rows of seats it could be a problem if one of the passengers was overweight, nee fat and had the middle seat. They took over both arm rests and their wider than normal legs required them to spread their legs encroaching on adjacent passenger leg room. The result for others was an excruciating 3-hour torture scrunched up on your side trying to avoid the sweaty body next to you!

So, rather selfishly we book either adjacent aisle seats, easier for the loo trip or take the window and aisle seat leaving the middle seat vacant. That way we lesson the chance of it being used. However, it is an anxious time as you sit and observe the persons boarding. Oh no, not that tall wide man or I hope that lady with the crying baby does not want 10b. Whew, boarding complete is announced and we can settle down to a comfortable flight.

Then we are introduced to the safety briefing and no one I mean no one pays any attention! I do, where is my nearest exit and is there really a lifejacket under my seat. I have experienced once that was nothing there! Briefing complete, out comes the Kindle and noise cancelling headset and everything is fine.

Follow all the instructions for take-off and I must remind the person in front to open the window blinds and then the flight starts. A bumpy period that hushes most people but as soon as we are airborne and climbing the buzz of chatter increases. Pling, the seat belt signs signify we can release them if we wish, and café service will begin shortly and there is a rush for the toilet!

Another thing I have learnt is that if you have a seat towards the rear, it is a gamble whether there will be any warm baguettes left. Seating nearer the front increases the chance of food choice.

Chose coffee and was pleasantly surprised to find it was free so no body contortion to extract my wallet from my back pocket.

If you have the window seat it might be possible to get glimpses of the earth below depending on the weather and as a past geographer, it is always a pleasure to try and identify the area below. Is that Denmark and was that the east coast of the UK? A real pleasure to ancient mariners.

Three hours pass and the pilot announces we will be landing in 20 minutes, and we should follow the instructions of the flight attendant. So my mental planning starts on how we will survive the hurdle of arrival!

Catching a flight

 

 

Surviving holiday air travel

It is all about luck whether you make it without incident. Take the case of our trip to the UK.

Normally we like to take an early flight out and a late flight back. This is both cheaper and gives you more time on your holiday destination.

Early means a 7.30 or 8am departure! So up at 0430, no breakfast and constantly checking out of the window for the taxi, hope it is on time and it is. Final check on pockets, passport, tickets, wallet, mobile and spectacles. All in order and we take the taxi to the station to catch one of the first airport express trains. At this time of the morning there are few travellers, a smattering of airport workers and flight attendants clutching cups of coffee. We have learnt it is best to try for the front of the train and we are helped by the letters on the station floor. Letter C will get us in the first carriage so long as it is a short train.

On time the train arrives, there is a rush of air, and the doors open, and we manhandle our luggage on board to find there are a lot of travellers and our luggage must stand in the aisle. By the time we have done this there are a few single seats scattered here and there. Kindly ask a lady to move her bag from a vacant seat so I can sit down, and we are off.

Thirty minutes later the train tannoy announces we are arriving at the airport. Immediately people stand up and jostle for position at the same time try to extract their luggage from the racks. Chaos, best to remain seated and wait for them to clear the door. Calmly exit the train with luggage and join the queue to go through the turnstile onto the platform. A lady is having trouble with her mobile app so with a deft and quick manoeuvre we change lanes and get through. One of the conveyer moving stairs is not working so a queue is backed up to the platform. Nothing to do but be patient, we have plenty of time.

The departure hall is absolutely full and complete chaos reigns. Then I remembered, it is the first day after the schools break up for summer and everyone, I mean everyone is out travelling! This going to be a nightmare. However, check in went reasonably smoothly and we got our baggage tags and paper boarding cards for extra security. Where is the back of the queue for baggage drop, I enquired. About 200 metres that way said a smug person at the front of the queue. Well, well I hope we make the flight in time. Forty minutes later we cleared baggage drop and prepared ourselves for the next hurdle, security. Waiting time 15 minutes it said, not too bad, and then a lady redirected us to a new queue which seemed shorter. Great, time to prepare, belt off, all things out of pockets, rucksack in one tray all the other objects in another, Shoes included because I have two artificial knees, I know the procedure if I do not put the shoes through first, they will be passed back for a second run the machine.

Passed through the machine and it beeped and showed red as I pointed at my stainless-steel knees. Knowing the procedure I stood on the yellow footprints, raised my arms over my head and waited for the machine to do its job. The lady gestured for me to exit and turn around as she patted me down first with hands and then with a portable machine. All OK but out of interest I asked to see the picture taken and it did not reveal my knees, only the metal buttons on my shirt. Well, Well.

Searched for my two trays but only one was available. The second one with the rucksack was in the clutches of a man who asked, Is this your bag sir? Yes, I said sure that I had checked everything that might be a problem in my checked in luggage. A check on the screen and he extracted my Kindle from the sack. This should have been placed separately on a tray, I was informed. No point in arguing that a Kindle is not a PC so smiled at him and he let me go.

Clutching my 2 trays whilst at the same time trying to keep my trousers from falling down I tiptoed on my stocking feet to a free table and started the laborious task for getting dressed again! Double check, passport, boarding card, mobile, wallet and spectacles. All in order and ready for the next challenge, finding the gate and getting some breakfast.

Skirted around the duty-free shops and headed for passport control as we were leaving the Schengen region. Two queues, one for Europeans and one for others! With the luxury of dual citizenship, I chose to use my brand-new Norwegian passport and sailed through the system.

Exhausted and needing to sit down we found a café with a couple of seats and ordered coffee and a baguette. Half an hour later the information board stated, “go to gate” and we were off another obstacle race called air travel.

 

 

Navigating the hotel buffet

 

Navigating the hotel buffet breakfast

It starts with timing. When between the opening and closing time should you venture onto the breakfast floor? Should you go early hoping to miss the crowds eager to fill their stomachs or late just before closing to have a relatively free run?

Whenever you go it starts with a queue and the inevitable identity check. Room number now displays your passport photo so there is no doubt who is eligible to enter.

No free choice of table, you are steered to an available area. You are lucky if you get a sea view.

Given a table and a pot of coffee enables you to plan your next move. A reconnaissance is needed to find out where your favourite cereals are plus a navigation plan to avoid queues especially for the English breakfast.

OK, we will start with a rapid expedition to cereals and juice with a detour to avoid the coffee machines and the queue for the toaster.

Safely back at the table and time to relax and enjoy the start of breakfast.

Cereals finished and the plate whipped away immediately after my last mouthful it is time for the big tour!

Quick observation shows that the queue around the toaster is not too long, and they have just refreshed the bacon and sausage area so it will be an English breakfast. Off the starting blocks, picked up a plate and 2 pieces of bread and arrived at the toaster to find a tourist has taken charge of the queue. After reminding us that his toast is first, he said it was OK to place my bread behind his! Toast finished, jogged over to the English breakfast queue, and started to load a fried egg, a sausage and one piece of bacon when a large, no, fat German pushed in and loaded three of everything on his plate and waddled off holding his plate with both hands.

Back at the table and pleasantly satisfied with a second cup of coffee it is time to enjoy the circus they call buffet breakfast.

There is at least a couple of hundred guests in this long room all vying for food. Mostly European with a majority being English and German they come in all shapes and sizes. Young, old, skinny and fat they rush around in a kaleidoscope of bright clothing or sometimes next to no clothes at all! Clearly some have just arrived. A little self-conscious and unsure of their holiday dress code they stand out with their pale skins. In contrast those that have been here a few days are either brown or red depending on their exposure to the sun.

A constant flow of bodies to and fro provides a pageant of colour and culture that is the hallmark of the holiday hotel buffet breakfast.