Friday, 27 September 2013

Stockholm Syndrome

I'm sure it is a very beautiful city, but as it was mainly viewed from a taxi I cannot say for sure.  Stockholm: it's really quite nippy, there are significantly more blondes, and they  have Daim bars...

I do not fly well.  It isn't natural, is it?  The plane seems to stay up by a collective act of faith.  Eddie Izzard apparently learned to fly to cope with his terror of flying.  This seems a bit of an expensive way to deal with it.  My terror is probably not helped by the morbid habit of watching plane crashes on Youtube.

The only thing that stands out from the meeting is when there was a discussion on obesity.  Looking casually round the table, it seemed that everyone else was of an acceptable BMI.  "I am almost literally the elephant in the room", I thought.

Did you know that SAS ground staff get around the airport on children's scooters?  This is done with a very businesslike face, just so you know they aren't doing it for fun.  The guy at the bag-dropping desk was very surly - perhaps because he didn't have a scooter.  I had a strange feeling as he tagged my bag because it said MUC.  A distant memory went off*.  My boss and I had been told different gate numbers.  She said not to worry.  I worried.  Just before security I turned over my boarding pass and it said Munich.  Bugger and arse, the surly bag guy had just put me and my bag on a Munich flight.

It took a while but the baggage handlers found my bag (it's a small black one, you can't miss it) and I had to trust that it would accompany me to Brussels.  "I don't know how that happened." said surly guy, somewhat bewildered.  "NO, NEITHER DO I", said my eyebrows.

So, two acts of faith on the way home: one to keep the plane in the air; one to make sure my bag came with us.  Brussels from above, at night, is very beautiful.  It looks like a galaxy of orange stars.

Stockholm deserves a better look one day.  I like coldness.  I like Daim bars.  Except I have now lost a filling.  Oh yes, the bag made it home. 

 *In the very early 80s I worked at Heathrow and have a vague recollection of three-letter airport codes. MUC is not Brussels.


  1. Phew! That's always been my worst nightmare about flying...getting on the wrong flight. I always check, double check, triple check my boarding pass before I leave the check-in desk.

  2. I'd already been checked in for the flight the day before at the airport in Brussels. So as far as I knew I was on a flight to Brussels. But this niggling feeling would not go away...and the sticky thing on the reverse of the boarding card (from the baggage drop) said Munich.

  3. Always trust a niggling feeling...

  4. Oh I do! Even when told "oh you just misheard him..."

  5. Last time I flew to Stanstead my bag went to Stuttgart so I always double check the luggage tag now.