British Airways (a lament)

Back from Dubai now and feeling like a British Airways rumble. The “world’s favourite airline” must now be one of the world’s least popular airlines. The poor, whingeing cabin crew staff did their best to disrupt our return plans with their attempted industrial action. Maybe, however, it would have been better if the strike had gone ahead and the company had been brought to their knees. That way we would have been re-routed on another airline on the way back and spared the graceless British Airways cabin service we received when returning from our Christmas break.

Okay so the flight safety video was on the blink (or none of the cabin crew knew how to work it). That meant that the £50,000 plus-a-year head of cabin crew had to read out the safety instructions, but she couldn’t find the script, so there was an embarrassing delay. We eventually got airborne and the drinks trolley appeared. Yes I could have a Bloody Mary if I didn’t mind a miniature of vodka, a slurp of tomato juice from a packet, ice and lemon. “Have you got any worcester sauce?” I pleaded. Of course not.

Now like my slimline son I quite enjoy the mysteries of airline food. There’s usually something reasonably tasty going on somewhere on the lunch tray – even when flying with charter carriers like Monarch. This time absolutely not. My lasagne was simply horrid and the wife’s chicken with rice was revolting to behold and she gave up after half a mouthful of the blackened, glutinous pulp.

Just to finish off I was tempted by an item or two from the duty free trolley. “Yes, sir, it will be coming around in about an hour”. Needless to say it never did. The moving map feature had been disabled to prevent us terrorists knowing when we were over areas of high population – soon, I imagine, they’ll black out the windows.

On landing by the modern and crisply efficient Terminal 5 our plane slowly taxied past a few dozen other British Airways aircraft, lined up at their showpiece terminal in much the same way as the same plane had taxied past a few dozen Emirates planes parked up outside their sparkling new terminal in Dubai seven hours or so earlier. The difference was that the Emirates fleet looked clean, new and efficient. The British Airways fleet looked old and tired – like their cabin crews. Next time I book a flight BA will be the carriers I’ll do my best to avoid. Sad, really...

Boxing Day Blues

It's true. I've just got to shed some weight. When I get castigated by my not-so-slim-himself son about taking sugar in my cafe latte, when my new XXL shirt bursts with the pressure of turkey and christmas pud, when the wife starts telling me to wear my shirt outside my trousers (like a skirt) , then I know it is time for some serious cutbacks.

There are problems ahead however - one more (paid for) massive breakfast in the Dubai hotel; a quiet lunch and supper today munching mince pies and cold turkey, fried up roast potato remains, delicious french baguette and all that. Then tomorrow we fly back to the chilly UK where a second Christmas feast awaits, then the New Year thing and then multiple family birthdays in January. Oh dear! Father Christmas brought me a drum of cheeselets, two tins of salted cashew nuts and a pack of my favourite Roka Cheese Crispies. Even while writing this I have paused for a few minutes to go out to a local supermarket where a very large packet of potato crisps found its way into the trolley. I must google the word 'coronary'.

On the plus side I have managed to have my first-ever Christmas Day swim, as well as my first-ever Boxing Day swim. I must find where I put the pack of Special K when I get home and, in the meantime, have to decide whether or not to buy significant quantities of duty-free gin on the way home. Good sense and prudent housekeeping says "yes", but my waistline says "no".
Decisions, decisions...

Dubai Revisited

It is Christmas Eve and very pleasant, sunny and warm. We follow a hearty hotel breakfast with a brief shopping expedition and then 'A Christmas Carol' - the Jim Carrey, Disney version in vibrant 3-D at a multiplex cinema (complete with two grandchildren and a large pot of popcorn). Gary Oldman's Bob Cratchit was suitably subservient and many in the audience found the snow effect through 3-D glasses rather curious in this desert location.

Dubai continues to puzzle me and to impress me by turns. The extraordinary Burj Dubai officially opens in a few days time. With over 160 floors it is currently the world's tallest building and looks quite amazing from our hotel bedroom window. New roads and buildings are being constructed at a frantic rate despite talk of money troubles and the global economic downturn.

Our fellow hotel guests encompass most of the world's nationalities and one looks in awe at the breakfast buffet as people mix different concoctions on the same plate: hot baked beans accompany figs, fresh fruit and dates; curries mix with camembert cheese; smoked salmon with (dirty) pork sausages and bacon; fresh melon with maple syrup, etc., etc.

I am challenged to games of chess by successive grandchildren which I unkindly win. I then decrease my popularity further by beating the venerable golden retriever at tug-of-war with his favourite toy.

Tonight we have every intention of attending the Church of England service at Holy Trinity Church, and tomorrow (Christmas Day) we intend to swim before munching turkey with all the trimmings. Boxing Day will of course be spent camel-hunting in the desert before returning to the refreshingly cool UK the day after.