Away we go

It doesn’t take long does it? If things are going to go wrong, they’ll go wrong from the off. Sunday 21st February 2010 and the day of my trip has finally arrived. I’m up with the lark and ready for action by 6am. Then I take a look out of the window. A few flakes of snow are gently drifting down. I bet you can picture the scene? Twenty minutes later and it’s like ice Station Zebra outside my house. The car is under several inches of the white stuff and it’s looking decidedly bleak for travelling.

Now, I love my car. Not like some of those saddos on “Top Gear” who seem to fly into orgasmic delight whenever a Ferrari flange sprocket whatchamagig is mentioned. But I do like my car a lot. It’s only a Seat Leon but it’s probably the nicest car I’ve had so far and when it’s dry, I can motor for hours. Did you see what I did there? I used the words,” When it’s dry”. Because when the snow comes, it’s a useless heap of junk. The slightest covering of ice and I’m skidding all over the place. That’s if I can move the damned thing in the first place. So today, the day I have to get to the airport, is not the day I want to see Santa’s grotto being formed on my driveway. Deciding that I’d better shift the damned thing, I clear a layer of snow off the car and gently edge onto the road. Jeez, it’s like Ice road truckers! I’m dropping my house key off at my friend’s house. He only lives 5 minutes up the road. I’m at it again; can you see the operative word there? Up. And there my problem lies. Not a cat in hell’s chance. I have to leave the car at the bottom of his road and, like Scott of the Antarctic, I battle my way to his house. I do hope you read this Dave because there’s something I have to say. You have the tightest letterbox I’ve ever known. (ooer missus) It’s so damned tight; I cut my hand whilst squeezing the key past the draught excluder brushes. So there I am, battling a blizzard, on foot, with blood pouring down my wrist. Oh joy!

Back on the road and if I was Captain Oates, I’d have stopped in the tent rather than brave this lot. I hate it, absolutely hate it. And when I’m attempting to pull up at the traffic lights, gently squeezing the brakes in plenty of time… nowt happens! I’m slowly careering towards the car in front. Oh God, No! Not today! Even applying the handbrake doesn’t work and as I’m just getting myself into the crash position, with eyes half closed, the lights change, the car in front pulls off and I’m safe! Huzzah!

Luckily the motorway is relatively clear and I’m soon dropping my car off at the long term car park and I’m soon whisked away to the airport by shuttle bus. Now the last time I used Emirates, the check in was a nightmare. Forty seven thousand families all jostling for a front row start. Not today though. There’s me and three others. Wuhooo, things must be going right for a change!

Me and my big mouth! Called to the check-in desk and told that because of the snow, my flight can’t land at the moment and so the departure time has been put back to 14.50. Not too bad, seeing as it should have gone at 13.30pm. Unfortunately, this delay means I’ll miss my connection in Dubai. By ten hours.

Ying and Yang were two acrobatic tumblers that toured the music halls in the 1920’s. So why a bit of bad luck, followed by something good happening is named after them I’ll never know. There you go folks, there’s something to while away a miserable February afternoon for you. However, my bit of bad luck has also been tempered with a bit of good luck. Emirates are taking responsibility for the delay to my itinerary. Hooray! I didn’t think it was them that made it snow but there you go, you learn something new everyday. Seeing as the delay is over eight hours, when I get to Dubai, they will put me up in a hotel room until my re-scheduled flight is ready.

Well and good as that is, I still need to get hold of my contact in India. As you know, I’m travelling alone, so I have to contact my contact (does that sound right?) and get him to meet me off the later flight. Oh what to do?

I sometimes feel like Jones from Dad’s Army, yet whilst my head is running at full tilt screaming “Don’t Panic” my sensible side takes over. Surely to goodness, with all today’s modern communication methods, I’ll be able to get hold of my contact, inform him of what’s happened and get things sorted? Actually, it’s a doddle if I’m honest. There are PC’s dotted about the airport for traveller’s use. And even though the thieving swines are charging £1 for ten minutes, I pay up and send a mail. Now let’s hope he looks at his email.

Red Stripe Lager comes all the way from the tropical West Indies. And at over £3.40 a pint, they’re determined for me to fund every inch of its flight. What the hell, I’m having one. And a big brunch. Why can’t they just call it a full English breakfast? I sat there, looked at the beans and thought “hmmm, I’m getting on a plane soon with a couple of hundred other folk, is it really wise to be having beans?”

In less than no time at all (just what does that phrase mean?) I’m onboard Emirates flight EK018 to Dubai sat next to the prettiest lass in Lancashire. What’s more, I’m sure she’s giving me the eye. Unless she’s boss-eyed of course which, knowing my luck, is more like it. Here goes.. Rob, be calm, be natural, stop sweating profusely and have a conversation. No sooner had I formed the word “hello” in my mouth than the handsomest chap in Lancashire got on, sat on the other side of her, licked his own eyebrows and promptly swept her off her feet. Bah! I hope they’re both happy together. Boss-eyed bitch and smarmy Jack.

At least the beans held off. Until we reached Dubai that is. Walking off the plane I thought, I’ll just let a little one slip. I’d been good and held it in for how many thousand miles? No-one will know and I’m walking that fast, the smell can be blamed on someone else! I’ll just…oh bloody hell! It was like the trumpet voluntary played non stop for four minutes. There was no stopping it. Reveille, if you will, for the semi-comatose travellers. The noise followed me all the way up to the x-ray machine. If they were looking for WMD’s they’d just discovered one. In my pants! Ah well Rob, welcome to Dubai.


Could I find the transfer desk to inquire about my free hotel voucher? Not a chance. Luckily there was a Bangladeshi chap off the Manchester flight and we looked for it together. I had to laugh. He saw some other Asian folk and said to me “These are my friends, I’ll just ask them” After a couple of minute’s conversation, he came back to me. “Fuckin’ shits, bastards. Bloody Indians! Talk to me like I’m shit… come on we don’t need them…fuckin’ Indians” Well, it made me chuckle. Worse was to come for him I’m afraid. When we found the transfer desk, they point blank refused to give him any hotel vouchers. They said he was delayed for less than eight hours and, as such, they could offer him nothing. He was up in arms! But they remained adamant. Bless, I bet he’s still there now.
I don’t know if any of you have been to Dubai. I’ve been twice now, for the same reason on both occasions. I needed a stopover before flying right back out of the place. Not my kind of place at all. All fancy and swish. All nice and clean. Not a grain of sand out of place. Yet there’s something missing. Ah yes, there’s no soul. It’s a heartless block of cement in a desert. Even the immigration officers sneer as they give you that all important stamp in your passport. No matter, it’s a free do for me and that always makes me happy. Oh, I have to mention this. Whilst sat waiting for the shuttle bus to take a few of us to the hotel, I glanced up and noticed something. The chap opposite was the campest camper in Tentville. Nowt wrong with that to be honest. I couldn’t give a monkey’s what he gets up to. He and his friends then decide to have a very loud conversation about whether homosexuality is legal in Dubai. Now, call me old fashioned but if a host is kind enough to put you up for the night (I wish I’d worded that somewhat differently) maybe, just maybe, you could keep your views to yourself? And not, as our friends did and begin shouting about their gayness to all and sundry. It was as if Larry Grayson had said “Shut that door, look at the muck in here and oooh my friend Everard likes me to do him up the wrong ‘un” In other words, it’s not needed and uncalled for!

At least the hotel in Dubai offered me the chance to plug in my laptop and catch up on emails. At a cost. The bastards charged me $15 for two hours access. Not that I’m bitter, much. My contact had emailed me back. I managed to get his mobile number, the contact in Kolkata’s mobile number and confirmation that they were waiting for the later flight. Let’s just hope they’re there.

Quite a low key flight to Kolkata. Nowt much happened. Plane flew. Meals were served. Free drinks were consumed (well, you have to don’t you?) and movies were watched. To be honest, I can’t get enough of Willy Wonka (stop it!). Up to immigration and there’s a great rush to fill in forms declaring oneself free of HN1 or whatever it’s called (swine flue). Into baggage claims and out into Kolkata, to be greeted by my contact’s contact! Thirty minutes later and I’m here at the Hotel Lytton, sipping Stolly vodka tapping away into this laptop, telling you lot what’s been happening. Looks like I can’t upload it though, I need and Indian sim card to get net access. See lots of ying and, just to balance it out, a bit of yang. Let’s see what tomorrow brings and get my head down for the night. I’ve been awake now for twenty or so hours. Besides anything else I’m sure the stolly has started to kick in. I swear I can hear a snake charmer in the street below… hang on, no. It’s just the antique lift squeaking its way upstairs.