Easyjet...Fleasyjet

Well, the Easyjet nightmare continued to the bitter end.

For once we managed to get to the airport before check in opened rather than our usual, several minutes before it closes, or on one notable occasion, after it closed.

We went to the desk where the two Easydrones sat behind patiently, waiting for the moment when check in would open. Two orderly queues formed, this being a UK flight and all. Just minutes before the 7.55 kick off, a supervisor appeared to tell No 2 Easydrone to take a tea break. She packed up and disappeared off, wishing everyone a pleasant flight and leaving just one Easydrone to deal with two queues.

"How's this going to work then' demanded a 'Retired to France' type?

"I'll take one person from each queue" explained Easydrone. Seemed simple enough to me.

Within seconds the 'retired to France' group, all beige slacks and half moon glasses, were in uproar, all claiming to have been at check in days, weeks and years before the people in the other queue, thus justifying their right to be checked in first. I groaned inwardly as one particularly feisty 'Anne Robinson' type, jabbed her finger at people in the other queue and demanded to know when they arrived and how long they had been waiting.

It went a bit like this:

Feisty Anne Robinson Type (FART): Well, what time did you arrive then?

Man with Bike (MWB): Two hours ago

FART: What time exactly?

MWB: 5pm

FART: I thought so! Where were you sitting? We were here at quarter to.

MWB: At the back

FART: I didn't see you, where exactly?

MWB: Over there (sighing)

FART: I think I was here before you, in fact I'm sure I was

MWB: Whatever.....

After a few minutes both MWB and FART where at the head of their respective queues. FART was toed up to the line ready to sprint for the desk if MWB dared to try and get their first. MWB couldn't have cared less.

The desk became free...

MWB: You first

FART: No, you.

For Heaven's Sake, I groaned to the children.

MBW shrugged his shoulders and walked up to the desk while FART visibly bristled that this young upstart should have had the gall to go first, even though she had asked him to.

The good thing with speaking French and having bilingual children is that you can break into French and be really rude about people and they are none the wiser. I hazarded a guess that FART probably said nothing more than 'Bonjour' and 'une baguette' and launched into a fairly good character assasination which was much enjoyed by the children.

Eventually we checked in and made for the departure gate. Gate 31 said our boarding cards. Hmmm, Gate 31 is a domestic gate so that couldn't be right. Eventually, after finding a milling throng of dazed and confused Fleasyjet passengers wandering around gate 31, I discovered that it was, in fact, gate 35. Easy mistake to make! So we all trudged round through passport control, manned as usual by gendarmes who had all got A* in their 'scowling suspiciously at nasty foreigner' test at Gendarme School, we collapsed in the cafe for a drink. As ever, my grand creme was repulsive and undrinkable but I soldiered on to ensure at least the minimum caffeine fix.

Departure was scheduled for 21.55 and by 21.45 the stand was suspciously devoid of anything vaguely representing an aircraft and sure enough, a message was now flashing along the bottom of the screen saying the flight was delayed by 1 hour 20 minutes. This being France, the cafe shut its doors at 22.00 and not so much as a drink of water would be available during our wait.

1 hour and 20 minutes later, no prized for guessing where we were. Still sitting in the departure lounge while the Easydrones perfected the art of the Gallic shrug with the head tipped on one side and a slight eye roll.

This is a gesture I've become very familiar with during the past almost 4 years. It's the standard answer to just about anything from 'when does the boulanger arrive' to 'my dog has been kidnapped by green shiny aliens'. It truly is an all purpose (and very French) gesture that we should all take time to learn. It works in just about any situation and a few you wouldn't even have thought of.

Eventually the flight was called and we realised that Easydrone @ check-in had had the last laugh. He'd given all the early arrivals a B on their boarding cards so they got to board last! FART nearly burst a major blood vessel when she realised and Mr FART, who sported a hearing aid, no doubt as a result of years of listening to FART's moaning, groaning and droning, looked apoplectic.

We boarded the plane, tired and thirsty, to be met by Francesca, positively the most bored air stewardess of all time, who couldn't even raise the faintest of smiles for her poor, delayed passengers and just continued to stare into the middle distance and chew her gum, a pose she maintained for the whole of boarding and most of the safety demonstration.

Now, as a former stewardess myself, I have a certain superstition about discussing plane crashes while flying in one but that didn't stop DD from spending most of the flight regaling me with questions such as 'do planes ever crash into each other in the air?' and 'if the engines stopped now would we crash?'. To me it's a bit like actors not referring to MacBeth by name as it brings bad luck and it left me with a bad feeling through the whole flight.

Eventually we start our descent into Gatwick. We're getting quite low but I haven't heard the landing gear go down. Even all these decades later I still do a mental check of all the things that should be happening as we come into land. Suddenly, about 500 feet off the ground, the nose tilts up sharply and the engines scream as we start climbing really steeply.

Bloody nora! It's the mid-air collision that DD had mentioned! I waited, heart in mouth, for the crunch and rush of air as the nose cone of a 747 smashed through our little Airbus (obviously as I'm typing this you know it didn't happen!). The crew made an announcement that this was normal procedure (my ar*e) and there was no cause for concern.

We went into a holding pattern while I ran through all the possible scenarios in my head. Landing gear stuck.....hydraulic failure..... another aircraft on runway... I never had any fear of flying when I did it as a job because you always knew what was happening. I hate being a passenger and not being in the know.

It brought to mind an incident during my flying days when I flew for a well known Middle Eastern airline. It was during the period when the government was trying to put locals in jobs previously held by the foreigners regardless of their ability to do said job.

We had a number of pilots who had trained at dodgy US flying schools and who, quite frankly, I wouldn't put in charge of a push bike. One particular one (who shall remain nameless for fear of a fatwa) but who was related to the ruling family and therefore 'untouchable' was made chief training pilot as it was considered better to keep him on the ground as much as possible rather than let him loose in the air with the lives of hundreds of passengers.

I knew of air crew who suddenly developed debilitating illnesses when his name was read out on the crew list in the pre-flight briefing.

It was my bad luck to find myself on his crew on a flight to Sudan but fortunately he was only co-pilot which drastically improved my chances of survival.

I was working in First Class so it was my job to tell the captain that the cabin was secured for landing. I went into the flight deck just in time to hear the following conversation.

Captain: Mohammed, do you have a Sudanese driving licence by any chance?

Mohammed: No, why do you ask?

Captain: Because you are lining up to land on the f***ing MOTORWAY!!

So, back to present day, and we held.... and held.... and held. I chatted gaily to the children until I realised that I was the only one on the entire aircraft who was talking. Clearly the crew's calming reassurances hadn't had the desired effect.

Eventually we started to descend.... I waited for the wheels to come down. Down and locked! Hooray, we were all going to live to see another day.

We finally landed 2 hours late where, god bless the CH, he was waiting, as instructed with Cadbury's chocolate and a latte!

I gulped down my latte, shared the chocolate with the offspring and realised that my back was fair covered in suspicious looking bites. Is Easyjet really Fleasyjet? What do you think?


Note: thanks to all who have commented during the last few days. I've had 4 days of duelling with dial up so I've lost the will to live. All comments will be answered shortly. Keep 'em coming!

In the Merde.....

This could actually be the title of my blog for just about any day of the week but yesterday I was truly in le grand merde.

We are going to the UK to stay with the CH and see old mates next week and, just for once, I'd like to be ready to leave on time with everything packed rather that our usual hour late career down the autoroute to Toulouse with my undies hanging out of the boot of the car and our entire wardrobes packed into three suitcases just in case I forget anything.

So I clicked on to Easyjet to check the flight times and 'putain' I'd booked the flights the wrong way round, flying from Gatwick to Toulouse on Tuesday and Toulouse to Gatwick the following week.

Calm, calm, restez zen...... it's only high season, I mean, how much can it cost to change it?

500 bloody quid is how much!

I phoned the CH, who was uncharacteristically unsympathetic, especially as he would have to foot the bill. I was very, very nearly divorced on the spot.

I tried to change it online but kept getting an error message saying I had to call the Customer Experience Centre and to 'click on this link'. It would have been easier to get the Skype number of the Dalai Lama than to find the number that the Easyjet website was telling me I had to phone.

"97% of your questions can be answered on our website" it claimed. Well not this one Pal, you told me I have to ring you. Eventually I found a number after scrolling down for several light years. I rang it. It only costs the GDP of a small African nation per nanosecond but hey, what does it matter.

After an interminably long menu which asked me to say 'website', 'yes', 'no', 'booking' ,'if this thing doesn't hurry up I'll need to take out a second mortgage' it eventually told me that if I need to change a flight I need to call a different number.

The 'different number' costs the approximate GDP of the United States and starts with the dreaded 09, which means you can't call it from outside the UK.

I eventually found the number for France, dialled, got put on hold at 1.34 euros a second, told I was in a queue (you are number 1..........hundred and forty three) then cut off, no doubt because the telephone system had reached it's allotted 35 hours it can work per week.

By this stage my stress levels were so high that I noticed nuclear fission happening around me. I found another number you can call from abroad and got through without spending more than the cost of a reasonably priced chateau in the Loire valley.

Next step, passing security. For some reason I had mistyped my mobile number so I couldn't answer that particular question. "Never mind", said the Easyjet drone, "tell me what your flight numbers are".

So I clicked on the confirmation to see...... well you would, wouldn't you? After all, I haven't memorised it, or written it down anywhere or had it conveniently tatooed to the inside of my wrist as I have the confirmation that they sent me staring at me from my computer screen.

"Oh," says the Easydrone. "You've clicked on your confirmation. That means I'm locked out of the system for half an hour, you'll have to call back".

"WHAAAAT!" I screamed." Why didn't you tell me that if I clicked on it you'll get locked out of your system."

"Well I don't know what you're doing on your computer, do I?" responds the Easydrone.

"But it's your bloody website, you should know. How am I supposed to know that if I click on it you'll get locked out? I didn't design the bloody thing. I don't work for Easyjet, you do. You should know. It should say somewhere on your website 'please do not click on this link while you are talking to our Customer Experience Centre or you won't be able to do anything for the next half hour'. I can't be expected to guess can I?"

"I'll log your call as complaint shall I?" asks Easydrone, all the while continuing to address me by my first name rather than Your Majesty or Your Noble Greatness whose day I have just ruined which would have been more appropriate.

"Yes, you do that. What time do you close?"

"In 20 minutes"

"So you'll wait for my call so I can change this flight as your stupid, stupid website seems unable to do it?" I suggested."

"No, I leave in 20 minutes you'll have to call back tomorrow"

"I'm not calling back tomorrow, I've already had to list my offspring on e-Bay to raise the money to pay for this telephone call. And in any case, you'll probably have doubled the ticket prices by then".

"That's a risk you take"

He wants to talk to me about risk? He was at serious risk of never being able to father children, or eat anything except puréed food for the rest of his life.

It's enough to make a girl turn to drink!