More theatre at Check-In

What is it with some passengers when it comes to utilising a cut price airline?
What part of "Please read all the instructions" don't they understand?
Today was a classic!
We are flying from Gatwick to Bordeaux on EasyJet.
Even a half-wit would understand that you have to pay for a check-in bag, over weight and oversize is extra. In fact anything that breaches the rules is a potential area for a hefty surcharge.
And when it comes to a cabin bag, well the dimensions are there for all to see and the strictly enforced limit is one cabin bag per person, end of story.
Now we come to the woman directly in front of us in the "Bag Drop Off Only" queue.
You only had to take one look at this idiot to realise that we were about to witness the sort of check-in drama that would be great for one of those airline reality shows.
For starters her check-in bag was the size of a small Elephant with weight to match.
Her cabin bag was twice the maximum permitted size and as a result simply wouldn't fit into the box they have at check-in to measure maximum allowable dimensions.
Two large hand bags and a big plastic bag completed her personal effects .
For starters, her check-in bag was simply too large and too heavy to either fit on , or be measured by the scales . The result was that said woman was turned away from the counter , only to reappear ten minutes later with two bags she had just purchased  to squeeze her stuff into. She then proceeds to throw all her stuff onto the area in front f the check-in then proceeds to repack in a very random fashion.
I can confirm that we agreed at this point that the woman really needed a reality makeover from that TV star Gok. Another problem was her floor length winter scarf dangling from her neck getting caught up in the action. We saw this scarf being hurled behind her in her frenzy to repack her bags.
So far so good, she gets one bag for free and pays a steep surcharge for the second bag.
Then the drama began in earnest. The check-in woman simply states in a very cool and intimidating voice that the passenger will be restricted to one cabin bag of such and such a size.
At that point the woman is then forced to hand over her cabin bag for check-in
"Ka-ching" this third check-in bag is also slugged the mandatory excess bag fee.
By this time the passenger is pretty near bursting point, aggravated  by a combination of a) total embarrassment b) anger c) frustration and d) the thought that she has just handed over a small fortune in excess baggage fees.
Then as a parting shot, the check-in woman tells the passenger , that when she approaches the departure gate she would have to ensure her two remaining hand bags and the large plastic bag she was holding, would all have to be presented as one single article.
The passenger is now in a blinding rage and  proceeds to let rip at the check -in woman, then having vented her spleen ,exits left, handbags in tow.
As she storms off in the direction of departures all those passengers who had been held up by this nonsense (us included ) burst into a loud and sustained round of applause.
It was brilliant!
Live check-in theatre , you just can't beat it.
If this is what it's like with EasyJet I wonder what's in store at Ryanair?
I can't wait....

Cheers, 
Postscript, today was definitely not one of this woman's finest. Having arrived at Bordeaux airport she, along with a shifty looking middle eastern guy were hauled out of the passport line for a full interrogation. 
Maybe next time around she will settle for a long weekend in Bognor Regis.

The 2012 London Marathon

Our man Alain (with cap) 500 meters from the line and gliding with grace

Now this guy knows the meaning of pain, real pain

The 2012 London Marathon

First things first. The sun was shining, it wasn’t too cold, so off we went to catch up with our friend Anne, who along with husband Alain had flown into London from Coffs Harbour (apparently it’s some upmarket place in Australia).

Alain and his mate George (the Hummingbird coffee king who lives in Christchurch) were battle ready for the big one.

This is Alain’s ninth marathon, not a bad effort for a guy getting close to sixty.

George was a first timer, though he had competed in a number of half marathons.

There are a number of basic ground rules when you are turning up to a race with something like 38,000 competitors and 200,000 plus supporters, all of whom seemed to have congregated in the general vicinity of St James Park.

Get there early, like maybe three hours before your favourite runner is due to sprint, saunter or stumble past you.

Grab a possie hard up against a railing so you have both a great view and something to lean against.

Don’t give any ground. You have fought hard for this position. Don’t give an inch to any late-comers, especially your softly spoken elderly women who are forever asking you if it would be OK for their precious grand-daughter to stand directly in front of you.

And, especially don’t take any nonsense from toffee-nosed well-dressed female socialites who try to worm their way into your direct line of view.

And last but not least, for God’s sake don’t drink anything.

If you were forced to find a toilet the experience would be an absolute disaster.

As for the race, it was a fantastic experience and one we will take in again.

Drama, heroes, runners in wild get-ups, chaps having massive cramp attacks right in front of you, wild cheering, it was just brilliant and yes, everyone’s a winner.

And as for the trip home, getting from St James’s Park to the Westminster Tube would be best described as a test of endurance.

We didn’t care about the delays; hundreds of thousands of us just went with the flow.  

And as for our friends Alain and George?

Well Alain, having aimed for 4 hrs 20 min managed to hit the tape maybe twenty minutes further down the track. A very fine effort.

I think George’s wife Sue had reservations about her husband’s ability to complete the course without blowing a valve. She needn’t have worried.

This gutsy Christchurch Boy’s High old boy is built of the stuff that makes Cantabrians great. George started off in second gear, never changed his revs, never slowed to a walk and hit the tape in front of Buck House in 5hrs 47min. Now there’s an effort to admire.

Post match dinner for all at a great Turkish restaurant in St Christopher’s Place just next to the Bond Street tube.

What a great day!   

The things one does to stay alive

The things one does to stay alive

Guys, If you have read our blog recently you will have noted that I recently visited the local GP to nail an order for Blood Pressure tablets What I avoided mentioning was what actually went down during an immediately following the consultation The night before the appointment was a huge evening inclusive of a four establishment pub crawl culminating in drinks at the Black Friar Moving onto the following morning and we go out for a long walk and though I didn't feel hungry Julia insisted we drop into a restaurant called Seafresh for a "light lunch" I sit down , show little interest in the menu  so julia promptly orders the special of the day , Haddock and chips for UKP12.95 The waiter advises that the smaller portions have run out and would we mind paying the extra two quid for the larger portion No problem , lets just eat and get the hell out of here and into fresh air. I have my back to the open kitchen area so when five minutes later Julia looks in the general direction of the kitchen, announces our meals are coming then lets out a groan, I know it can't be a good sign Twenty seconds later I'm looking down at my "light lunch" , laid out on a plate the size of a serving dish for roasts And what do I spy through the slits in my one remaining semi opened eye Well, apart from a kilo of large fries, and upwards of four cubic inches of tartare sauce, what really starts my heart bounding is the sight of this one single piece of Haddock. Up to this point in my life I had no idea about how large a Haddock reached when fully grown. However i can now confirm that the haddock is obviously a close relative of the Whale. This sucker , battered to the gills, must have extended eighteen inches  along the plate. It was at least ten inches wide and and inch thick. This wasn't a fish! This wasn't a lunch! This was a way of life! My heart starts pumping like I'm about to have a heart attack and I'm suddenly perspiring to beat the band. As soon as the waiter has retreated I beg Julia to agree to just throw down some cash and cut and run My proposal is turned down flat and I'm told to get a grip and simply eat what I can. So I shut up and do my best, in fact we both give it our all. Thirty minutes later and we have removed maybe a third of the meal from our plates. At that point we call it quits, pay the cash and stumble home for a lie down Whilst flaked out on the couch, I thought briefly about canceling the appointment but on reflection thought I would just "man up" and tough it out Next scene, I'm in the doctors examination room, feeling .......... I can't adequately describe how I was feeling suffice to say I had felt better The doctor proceeds to measure my heart rate and blood pressure. I should note at this point that apparently the norm on this procedure is 120 over 80 In my case my doctor seems happy that I'm around 130 over 90 So my new Pimlico GP takes a reading then quickly looks up and says to me , are you OK I say why And she says, because your readings have just gone off the dial. you have the measurements of a driver in the last laps of a Formula One race I try to put on the innocent , neutral face look and obviously fail miserably. So the doctor then looks me straight in the eyes and says, just tell me what you have been up to over the last twenty four hours, what have you drunk, and what have you eaten. So I respond, do you mean apart from a four bar Pub crawl last evening where I must have downed a couple of bottles of wine, followed by dinner consisting of one horrible pastie , two bags of salt and vinegar chips, a few hand fills of salted peanuts, coffee and an orange for breakfast , and half a whale and a medium sized bag of potatoes deep fried into chips washed down by two glasses of red for launch, apart from that......nothing.....honest! The doctor stares at me like I'm insane and says, are you aware that sixty year old bodies aren't designed for this level of abuse So I say, no I wasn't , do you think it might be a good idea to tone things down for a couple of days. Exit the surgery with prescription request in hand however at this point I have more pressing engagement and without further ado I'm straight down to the local Argos store where I purchase my own personal Blood Pressure/Heart Rate monitor (UKP24.50 from all good stores, batteries included) It's now a few days down the track and I'm happy , no what I mean is that I'm ecstatic that my heart rate and blood pressure readings are now averaging 129 over 80 I think this London lifestyle agrees with me Now where can we go for lunch today to  celebrate our 31st wedding anniversary Cheers, John

The NHS

The National Health Service

The National Health Service
For years I have heard any number of negative comments regarding Londoners dealings with the NHS  however I have to tell you that our experiences have been nothing but positive
A couple of years back we lived  in Islington. The local NHS surgery was a five minute stroll from our front door. No appointments required. All you had to do was front up to the counter, they would flick you a number and within a guaranteed thirty minutes your number would flash up on a screen and you would be in business. Appointments were free and any medication required was at minimal cost.
A couple of years down the track in Pimlico and it's the same story 
At 1000 hrs one morning Julia chipped her tooth, and bingo, two hours later an NHS approved dentist has her up and running again for £35. If we had her registered the cost would have been even less
A couple of days back I strolled into our local surgery to make an appointment.
I'm chatting away to one of the receptionists and say to her that I've noticed that this surgery seems to cater to a wide diversity of the population who I assumed had different preferences when it came to appointment times.
The receptionist then tells me that free call in surgery times on a Monday morning are a war zone, however during the rest of the week those on a benefit and mothers tended to plug for morning appointments and those hard working types who reside in the Dolphin Square accommodation generally insist on slots before or after work, which leaves the afternoons pretty much free.
And with that I bagged an appointment for 1620hrs.
It probably assisted my cause when I fronted the doctor fully equipped with a copy of my Christchurch Doctors notes so the whole process of nailing blood pressure tablets was all over in ten seconds.
What was really interesting (unlike my ever vigilant genius Doctor Ding in Christchurch) was this local GP's relaxed attitude towards the volume of the prescription.
My new medical buddy Dr Nalliah initially advised that she could only prescribe two months of tablets. I immediately tell her that I'm off to France, won't be around in a couple of months, and suggested she might like to extend the prescribed period to four months
No problem, and with a four month prescription in hand (still leaving me one month short for our total time away) I wander down to the local chemist.
Now the young Indian guy who owns this chemist outlet is one really cool dude. After a couple of minutes we are deep in conversation about the merits of our respective national cricket sides 
At this point I think what the hell, you never know unless you ask, so I say to this guy, look I have a slight problem, the doctor only gave me four months supply of these tablets and I actually need five 
This guy thinks about it for a couple of seconds and responds, four months, five months, what's the difference, turns around to one of his staff and instructs then to add an additional month. 
And that's the thing I've noticed in my short time in London, the approach towards health care is obviously a volume driven thing and as a result , is far more casual than the average Kiwi operation
And as for costs, everything is free, appointment, pills , it's all courtesy of the NHS
So what's the downside.
My feeling is that if you contracted anything really serious and if you had the dosh, you would be best to employ the services of a higher priced medical person. I thing all this free stuff is OK for low hanging fruit type medical issues however I would be a little uneasy if we had a major issue to tackle head on.
Just one other thing which is also common to New Zealand , there is army sized sector of the population who are suffering from any number of medical and social issues varying from mental challenges, medical problems , lack of family, no money etc etc, who are basically living a life where the NHS just throw money at them and leave them to fend for themselves.
And I tell you, if you were on the skids and attempting to survive in London without any realistic expectation of family or state support, then you would be confronted by the mother of all challenges.
This city is just the greatest place to live if you are upwardly mobile or on top of your game. However it's a bloody jungle for any who have fallen off their perch 

Cheers, and good health!




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