Right, so in the last week I was in four different cities in the space of two days, looking for places to build a bar. Leicester is a complete dump, with rows of empty Subways Sandwich shops punctuated occasionally by a dead fat lady or a road. We stayed in the Premier Inn, which is not only the highest building in Leicester, but also the most blue, red and yellow. Except when you are inside, in which case it is the most emetically purple building you could possibly imagine. Yes, even worse than those horrible dreams about Prince's boudoir you've been having lately.
We left Leicester on Thursday morning to drive to Nottingham, wandered round for an hour or so, and then immediately found the building we wanted, which has stunning views of the city centre. Job being done, we left within three hours of arriving, stopping only to have a Wagamama chili ginger chicken rope salad soup on the way.
This, I'm afraid, is where I am going to have to digress slightly. You see, we flew to Edinburgh from West Midlands Airport. We flew with BMI Baby. Both of these were a lapse of judgement. Given that I woke up at five o'clock on Wednesday morning to drive to Leicester, it didn't really cross my mind not to pick up a fresh bottle of shampoo and conditioner to shove in my bag along side the can of deodorant and pair of nail scissors. What annoys me is that even when one doesn't cross international borders, when one doesn't even need a passport, one still is strictly not allowed to carry over 100ml of fluid.
As a trained chemist, I would hereby like to kindly assure all concerned potentially-foiled-terrorists or fearing-for-national-security-morons that any explosive making kit that consists of fluids of 101ml or more, can just as easily be made with 99ml. Especially if you are allowed up to 10 separate 99ml containers. Anyway, having had to endure the embarrassment of transferring as many toiletries as possible into pointless clear bottles, and then throwing the other perfectly good 90% away, I was faced with this sight at the Boots on the other side of security:
Apologies for the terrible blurred photo; I was literally quaking with rage.
They must do that just to annoy you. Highlight the absurdity of the whole scheme by offering you full bottles of shampoo to buy (that you will have to dispose of on your return). And right next to the plastic bottles too, which you no longer need at all because you're on the side of security where fluids are allowed. Wait, no, but they're not allowed. But you can still buy them.
I must say I was sorely tempted to high-jack the plane by squirting shampoo in the pilot's eyes.
"It smarts! IT SMARTS!!" he'd cry.
Anyway the whole object of confiscating liquids has three delicious consequences:
1) Stupid people think the government are taking action against the threat of terrorism.
2) Airports can make thousands of pounds a week by charging for little plastic bottles and clear plastic bags.
3) I am even now extremely fucked off.
Which leads on to the next bit of mindless profiteering - I was charged £35 because the name I was booked under (Ben) was different to that on my passport (Benjamin). They knew this since they had seen my passport details (before I even entered the airport), and yet chose to raise the issue only at the departure gate, when I had no choice but to miss my flight or pay the fine. I know they already knew about it because they told me they were looking out for me. And then subsequently denied it. And when I asked the chap's name who was taking the money from me, he wouldn't give me his surname for security reasons. Which would have been a convincing idea had I not been able to read it from his name badge which was hanging literally inches below his stupid piggy face. What was the £35 for? There was no administration, they just took the dollar and let me on the plane. If it was a security risk that my name didn't match my passport, how does £35 remove the risk?! I suppose really we could just charge everybody thirty five quid to enter a plane, and then no-one would be a security risk at all and then there wouldn't be any terrorism, EVER. PROBLEM SOLVED. WHERE'S MY NOBEL KNOBBING PEACE PRIZE?
That money went straight into some airport fuck's bulging pocket.
And this was after a forty hour delay, I kid you not.
Anyway, rant over. We flew to Edinburgh, stayed in the nicest hotel I've ever been in (a suite of three rooms replete with iPod docking stations next to every TV, mirrors that magically de-steam, a leather sofa the size of a bus, a doorbell with a built in camera, and a dedicated butler to fetch anything we needed). There was a TV built into the wall above my bath. I sat in it, in my top hat, with a cigar and a glass of champagne. I watched the Chuckle Brothers. I was pimp.
Edinburgh [property] is expensive, and confusing, but ultimately beautiful. On the first night we ate in Oloroso, I had steak, some Chateau Palmer 1998, and Cain Vineyards 'Five' 2000, it was very grand.
The watch word for the trip was 'FUN'.
I felt like this.We missed our flights and had to get the train home. This took eight hours, and four changes. I cried three times. My legs ached and my feet were blistered.
I am currently eating one of the home-made French blueberry yoghurts I stole from the fridge in our hotel room. I don't think it was designed to survive an entire day stuffed in a warm bag on a train. It tastes rather rancid.
If you'll excuse me, I am going to go and vomit.
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