Dear British Airways...

I know you're trying to costs. I know you face competition from the Aldi and Lidl of airlines. All this I know. But....

Was it really necessary to remove one of the only two lavatories on certain of your aircraft, and fit in two seats instead? Have you even tried out these seats yourselves? If not, let me tell you what it's like.

 Imagine sitting in a dark cupboard, with two people in front almost lying on your lap. There is no window, so the nervous passenger doesn't know when to feel really nervous as he doesn't know whether he's up or down. You cannot recline your seat, so if you  happen to have a bad back (some of us have had nasty horse-related accidents, for example. We need to be able to recline) you just have to suffer. Your knees are tucked just under your chin, your bottom is numb, and as for the brace position - well, you can forget that. You'd knock yourself  out on the seat in front before you'd even started. Artificial light is essential for reading, as there's minimal daylight, and the only other occupation available is counting the number of people entering and leaving the remaining lavatory (around 42 on a short haul flight), and watching them struggle with zips and skirts and other obstacles as they emerge half-dressed. There are also the interesting clattering sounds made by the cabin crew as they prepare their trolleys just behind you.

So. Please give it a try, and see what you think. You might just decide that this kind of treatment is incompatible with any kind of travelling comfort, as we did. Just to remind you, the seats to go for are 25A and 25B. You'll find them at the very back of the plane. Enjoy.

Yours etc.

We're off...

...on the high seas. Well, not too high, I hope. I know how lucky we are, especially after years of rainy holidays in England with the children (we never once had a dry one. Not even in the baking summer of 1976, although we did have fun), and while I'm not really a cruise person, John isn't that steady on his feet, so it really suits us. I don't  have the right clothes, the right tan or the right (very white) teeth, but no matter. We're much looking forward to it.

 

 

Our "suite" (ha) and the ship we're going on. Last time we went steerage....

I shall miss Adrian's beetles and Graham's stuning views, and all the other updates from the blogs I follow, but I'll catch up on our return. I am not taking iPad or anything else electronic with me. I need to be weaned off...

"What you want is pie"

This is what my eldest son said after he and I had had a celebratory posh meal together a few weeks ago. And I thought of these wise words yesterday.

Yesterday, we joined relatives for another posh meal. I've posted about this Fine Dining thing before, but it bears repeating. It was a lovely occasion; great company, beautiful weather, glorious surroundings etc. but the food was of the garden-on-a-dinner-plate variety: small portions of tiny little unidentifiable things which have to be explained. Like this:

Waiter (putting your plate in front of you. Here you have to imagine charming French accent): you have here a pâté of wild hare's trotters pickled in cognac, a purée of wild garlic and cucumber, a peanut soufflé with rose petals, a stuffed claw of pickled lobster, and a beetle nut jus.

Then you have to remember it all when he's gone, because he took away the menu an hour ago,  and you can't remember what you ordered.

As for jus, what's that all about? And whatever  happened to gravy? Good, old-fashioned English gravy. In a jug.

So, back to my son. He's right. What you want is pie. Straightforward, no-explanations-needed pie. And lots of gravy.

The sheer nastiness of our MP

I'm so glad I didn't vote for Claire Perry, our comfortably secure MP, who has tweeted  the following:

 “Hallelujah. Mark Reckless out. Don’t let the door shut on your fat arse.”

What a thoroughly nasty, not to say immature, woman. She's used this kind of language before. She doesn't deserve to represent us.

Be careful what you Google

John has just discovered that he can talk to his iPad, and ask Google questions verbally. He's very excited about this, but it can lead to some fearful misunderstandings. A favourite eating place of his is called Gidleigh Park, and we are going there next week. So he asked Google what was on the menu.

"Gidleigh Park menus!" Quoth he. But what he got was "deadly cock menus", which led to this bewildering website:

The Seven Deadly Sins of Penis Exercising

Penis exercising? All sorts of interesting questions spring to mind, but I won't bore you with them. But if you're interested, and find this website useful, feel free to thank me. You (probably) read it here first.

The delicate art of trampolining: stage one

When I was triplet-sitting over the week-end (see last post), all their cousins came over to tea. Here are the youngest two trying to master the trampoline. The heartless laughter comes from Daddy...

Sleeping teenagers and Catch 22

Minding teenage triplet grandchildren, who sleep all the time, I am filling my time with this.

In today's Times, we are told that the proposed one-way trip to Mars may damage astronauts' brains. This poses an interesting question: i.e.. to want to go on this trip in the first place, you'd have to be mad, but if you are chosen, presumably you have to be declared sane. Catch 22 all over again.

(I may have posted about this before, but as I said, I'm short of entertainment. The teenagers are now awake, fed,  and on their screens..)