Dis queue at Heathrow!

Arrived in London at the amazing Heathrow (sarcasm, people, sarcasm) and waited for them to process the 1000 people that were waiting in the queue before me. The most interesting thing about the wait was the larger lady from (I’m guessing) Africa, who decided she didn’t wanna wait no more. “Hurry up, I’m dying in dis line!” she called to the non-plussed customs officers.

No-one responded. So she tried again. “If you don’t hurry dis line up, I’ll be comin’ over dere!”

Again, she received barely a glance from the otherwise-engaged customs officers. So she hoiked up her dressed, and made to clamber over the chain to approach a desk. Nothing like encouraging a bit of action. About three security guards descended upon her, a few customs officials jumped out from behind their desks (and let me tell you, the 1000 people all still waiting and not clambering  started muttering almost as one “get back behind your desks and keep processing, ya bastards!”

Now, she had everyone’s attention. I started applying some make-up and brushing my hair incase the camera crew from Border Security were about to make an appearance. She started screaming about how she was getting hot and was going to faint. Let me tell you, that would have been an interesting sight to see, as she was not a petite little thing. After about thirty minutes of arguing and otherwise engaging at least three customs officials who could have been processing us other plebs, she got to make her appeal to be let into the country. And I think she lost it. Or it looked that way when I finally got through (I was at the counter for all of four minutes after queuing for an hour) and she as still sitting in the naughty chair, or whatever they call the seats poor sods have to sit in when their passport details don’t look right.. Good luck honey!!

Let’s start at the very beginning..

I’ve been home for two weeks now and have been so frickin’ busy with work it’s not funny. Holiday? What holiday? Something like that anyway. But have been tossing and turning at nights churning blog entries over in my brain and will start to get some of them down.. I want to bore you all with a few tales from my trip (and no, none of this “we went here, and saw this cathedral, then we went here, and saw this cathedral, then we went here and saw this cathedral”.. oh no, no, no.. except for my Westminster Abbey story.. coming soon!)

So will start with the beginning.. my flight over. I got to the airport (yes, I am going THAT far back) and unloaded myself from the car (thanks cuz and flatmate-that-I-love-even-though-you’re-not-my-flatmate-anymore) and proceeded to strut, like the world weary traveller I am to the check-in desk. I think it was a group of about 30, no, let’s say 40 people, that my cheap ass carry bag decided to break, spilling it’s contents across the space of about ten metres. I was on the phone at the time (big surprise there!) and bent (forgetting I had a 24 kg rucksack on my back) and tried to pick up my crap. Much to the humour of the onlookers. Who tittered and chuckled, giggled and POINTED… and didn’t help me.

By the time I got to the checkin desk the dude behind it, who was witness to the whole spectacle and was trying hard to contain his laughter. I managed to smile (through gritted teeth) and luckily he took pity on me and gave me rows to myself all the way to London. Snooze-fest guaranteed. So, the lesson for the day is… to get a good seat on a plane, make a right dick of yourself where the dude checking you in can see. Yes, something to remember for all of us, I think.