Well, it’s been a while since my last blog – or at least it seems so. Life has been on the hectic spectrum and now that I am due to have my hand operation in January I won’t be able to type for a few weeks so the clock is ticking to get Singles in India finished before the op. The surgeon operating on me said “It’s a painful operation; your hand will be very sore.” “Don’t you hold back, doc. You give it to me straight,” I said! I’m bracing myself because I really do not do pain. At all. So I’m already starting the mantra: I feel comfortable, calm and at ease after my hand operation.
Sunday 15th is racing towards us – and that means the Second Reading of Singles Holiday! Eeekk! I am beyond excited. The director will be there, too. I can’t tell you who it is at the moment – or I’d have to kill you!
Early on Sunday morning I went to stay with my old friend V in Rainhill, which is Up North. It’s also equidistant from Liverpool and Manchester and a couple of months ago I was fortunate enough to see a special offer with Virgin Little Red from Heathrow to Manchester, that made flying cheaper than going by train. And I have to say the flight up was a comfortable, pleasant experience. I felt at home as soon as I boarded; in spite of it being a Manchester crew they were all wearing that wonderful shade of foundation: East End and Essex Orange. Seriously, though, a really good flight and when I got to Manchester V was there waiting for me. Unfortunately, then she couldn’t remember exactly where she’d left the car, so the 20 minutes the pilot had gained on the flight we lost wandering around looking for a 58 Hyundai!
I had a great couple of days with her, though, as I always do. We met as reps in Mallorca and shared some great times together. We both kept on wondering, though, where the two hot chicas in their hot-pants, strutting their stuff on the dance-floor of Son Sunyer to Knock Three Times have gone. On Monday night we went to see Aladdin at the Liverpool Playhouse – great night, everything a panto should be, although I have to say that I was riveted on a small child who was sitting in front of us. She ate the contents of a selection box between taking her seat and the curtain going up. Then, as the show started a large tub of Haribo was produced which she then made short work of. Consequently, by the interval, when she had an ice-cream, she was on a real sugar high and spent the whole of the second half leaping up and down and shouting and singing, which was fine while the cast were doing a musical number but not so hot all the way through Aladdin and Princess Jasmine’s romantic duologue! Still, bless her, she enjoyed herself.
Coming through Manchester Airport security was a most unpleasant experience. Now, please don’t send me patronising e-mails or pms telling me why we must have strict security at airports because I’ve spent most of my life in the travel industry and actually do understand the need for national security. BUT yesterday was beyond a joke. I think they must have had some kind of target to meet. There was a KLM crew in front of me and the security officers went through them with the proverbial fine-tooth comb. Then came my turn. I think the most annoying thing was that I was ‘dealt with’ by three different people. The first one, a male, went through my coat, hat and handbag, asking me which airline I was flying with. He then sent them back through the scanner and seemed to disappear. His place was taken by second male, who went through my carry-on case. I’d bought a bottle of perfume as a Christmas present while in Liverpool. It was 100ml – so within the limit – unopened and with the receipt yet it seemed to be causing a problem. As did my eye-liner pencil, which, as I was sternly told “should be in the see-through bag.” Why? It’s not a liquid or gel. He ignored my question, preferring to rummage through my dirty underwear and ask me which airline I was flying with. He then sent the perfume and eyeliner pencil through separately before pouncing on V’s Christmas present to me which was, naturally, wrapped up. He shook it vigorously and was unsure whether it was a liquid or not (I hope it wasn’t anything fragile as it’ll now be in bits) and then decided to rescan to see if it was liquid. So my case and the present went back through the scanner. And the security man walked off, through two opaquely-glassed doors and also disappeared.
My coat and hat and handbag came down the “green’ belt – the hat was battered. “Be careful with that! It’s a Katie Vale!” I cried out, rescuing it from the clutches of a female security officer who now seemed to be the one dealing with me and slamming it back on my head. Several minutes then passed before my carry-on case re-appeared and then promptly went down the ‘red’ belt. After dealing with a young Dutch couple with a baby and a push-chair the size of a Reliant Robin, she turned and asked “Whose is this?” while pointing at my carry-on case. I said it was mine and she asked me which airline I was flying with.
She went through the case again and then wiped the ‘drug-cloth’ over it. Perhaps it was because I was among people who were going to Amsterdam. Although I thought it was people leaving Amsterdam who usually carried things they shouldn’t. Anyway, the cloth was, of course!, clear and I was FiNALLY sent on my way. Fortunately the flight was delayed or I’d have struggled to catch it. RETAILER’S RASPBERRY TO SECURITY AT MANCHESTER AIRPORT!
But, the flight was lovely and as Virgin’s schedule had allowed an hour and five minutes but it only took forty we arrived in Heathrow just four minutes late. My car was brought very quickly and I was off. The M25 wasn’t too bad, given that it was rush hour, although a couple of times between Junction 22 and Junction 26 I thought I’d inadvertently parked but on the whole we kept moving. A127 was awful, though. So much traffic and so many hold ups. Not helped by Essex Man’s appalling driving. Still I was happy to be listening to Radio 2, especially when Ian Hislop came on. I love him – such a witty man. And then Steve Wright swapped seats with Simon Mayo, who kept on announcing “Stephen Fry will be with us just after six.”
Fortunately, I got home at 5:58pm. There is a God and he does love me.
