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Manchester Musings

July 03, 2005


Manchester is shiny and lush on landing. Rolling green hills and not a tall building in sight. As we taxied down the runway I saw throngs of people standing on makeshift observation decks, taking pictures in our general direction. My first thoughts were, "is there something painted on this plane that people want to see?", "maybe there isn't much to do around here?". These theories were quickly debased when I saw what lay, motionless, between our plane and the excited onlookers, a few Concordes just idling on the grass. I suppose they are now the stuff of legends. Tis a shame.

It is subtly different here. It's like the Halifax airport in a parallel universe. Instead of fiddles there is bad house playing everywhere. Surprisingly few desis, haven't seen a single face of Oriental descent as yet. One huge difference from Toronto, I've not seen ANY Pumas. None. One pair of Nikes and the rest are ALL Adidas. I fit right in, these are my people. Ha. I've not got any pounds. Need to find an exchange so I can buy a bag of crisps, a coffee, and a trashy daily (preferably The Mirror).

Yikes, my 40 CAD is worth 15.36 Pounds. I read the tabs, watch some people. The 12 year olds in Toronto tend to dress like little versions of Xtina. Here, they wear Lacoste tracksuits with their cornrows and runners. This, I very much like. See, if you're 12 and you've got the cuteass baby chub going on, then wearing a tube and 2-sizes-2-small jeans is going to make you feel terrible about yourself. Wear the damn tracksuit, save yourself some grief, tell the boys to FECK OFF, reclaim your public image, stand your ground. Not that any 12 year olds will be reading this but I'm just putting it out there...because I'm waiting in an airport and I've got jack to do.

I'm on flight EK 18 after being singled out (again) at the gate. Feeling very uncomfortable with people hollering my name all over the intercom at airports. I needed an 'A.P.I.' apparently, that's 'Acquire Passport Information' for "ensuring quicker proceedings in Dubai". Err, I didn't pay for this special service, what gives? They're waiting aren't they? The morons at the end of the passport line in Dubai. That breed of human garbage with its attar stench and cow-like gum chewing.

So, I'm on the plane, watching my personal tube. BBC headlines, ground cam, sky cam, maps, and all 500 video channels (minus sound till the headsets come) even before we begin to taxi. Sweet Emirates, I'm never cheating on you with a cheap substitute ever again, promise. You can blame the flicks for me ending my writing here. Until next time, I hope you have enjoyed your flights with me, I hope to see you soon, thank you for choosing Currylingus.

posted by Neha
4:31 PM

3 Comments:

Blogger GoodLookiN! said...

Currylingus, that's a good name for an Airline. Get it trademarked ASAP. The Irish have AerLingus ;-)

7/05/2005 09:52:00 AM  
Blogger Wolfe said...

I was going to say something vaguely lezbean about riding the currylingus wave, but I won't.

7/07/2005 03:00:00 PM  
Blogger Paresh said...

Post WOMAN Post!

7/08/2005 12:32:00 PM  

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