Yesterday’s flight had me in Row 15, the ‘emergency exit’ aisle…window seat…directly over the wing & engine…
I’m a Big Child, which means that I get rather excited by the thought of big machines, speed, power, etc.. As a result, I tend to inspect certain things more than most.
When we boarded, I looked at the engine. When we took off, I glanced at the engine. In flight, I observed the engine. At all times, the engine was whole and appeared to be in good order…
When we were coming in to land, I happened to look down yet again…however, I was now peering directly into the engine! Imagine my surprise…
Do I worry? Do I call the hostess? Do I wait…for something?
I chose the latter, which was a good thing…as I later saw a cover sliding closed over what now made sense…the reverse thrust vents.
You know, they really should paint a sign onto the engine for clueless passengers that it’s not a case of shit falling off of the plane, when you happen to see a hole in the engine that wasn’t there a short while ago, but that panels do move, on purpose, and that you’ll live to tell the foolish story.
We’re approaching the end of the year and the seniors in schools across the country are getting desperate…to outdo their classmates.
Who will don the killer threads, have the hottest Date and, quite importantly, who will make the biggest scene upon arrival?
For the latter, that one stupendously rich kid might arrive in daddy’s helicopter, but most will opt to share a limo’ or arrive in a suitably bling ‘old car’.
For those of us who are amenable to event rentals with our old cars, this is the season when our phones start ringing in fury.
Patience is a requisite virtue in these cases. You’re dealing with youngsters who, more than likely, have no idea what’s involved in restoring, maintaining and prep’ing an oldie for reliable, timeous and flashy use. Old cars are exactly that, old. They require hard-to-find parts, which usually cost a fortune. They’re slower, typically less than 100% reliable and are usually driven by pedants who have little patience. I know, for I am one of them.
Whether you’re readying your jalopy for a media shoot, school function or wedding, the preparation is usually the same: intensive cleaning & polishing, some degree of a Service, route plotting and, if requested, decorating.
All of this, I can assure you, takes a substantial amount of time; and money.
Once the vehicle is ready, we need to get ready. You wouldn’t want to arrive at your function chauffeured by a smelly, unshaven sod in tatty attire, would you?
You may only be traveling a few miles to your destination, but you’re forgetting that we may need to travel a notable distance to cater to your address. Once there, we often need to manoeuvre several times, for your photos, assist ladies in and out of the vehicle, reconfigure the vehicle to your needs and perhaps wile away several hours, whilst you dance, get hitched, or whatever.
All of that said, there are always the lazy bums who will happily throw you the keys to their unmaintained heap for some quick cash. These are typically the chaps with a list of unhappy customers, irked drivers and roadside assist references littering their vehicles’ dashboards.
So, the next time you think of hiring ‘an old car’, please think carefully before you call a supplier to ask the following questions:
- “I want to hire an old car”. “Please be more specific.” “An old car.”
- “How much does it cost?” “For what? Sleeping in? Fornicating within?”
- “…but it’s only two miles to…”
- “We only need you for X amount of time.” “Riiight.”
- “Can we drive it?” “Are you willing to pay for any & all breakages and the insurance?”
…and, with specific reference to ambulance rentals:
- “Can you fit a dozen kids into your ambulance?” “It’s an ambulance, dear, so, no.”
We also appreciate a deposit on time, to cover our upfront costs and generally express appreciable gratitude when your excessively catered event can spare us a drink and a sandwich.
There once was a dashing swain,
Long of leg and short of mane.
This fellow did himself a motorised steed acquire;
Scoped by plods aplenty, he quickly earned himself the title of Liar.
With dapper dexterity did he control it,
Impressing dollybirds from here to there, formed from fleshy to fit.
Upon his bike did he obtain righteous swiftness & much merriment,
Whether upon one wheel or two, hastily or lazily, it met ceaselessly with his mother’s disagreement.
With haste did he depart,
Seldom with urgency in any part.
From form to fit, stood or sat, right did he look;
Framed by a Kojak with a Kodak, he was given the book.
He delivered his line…
A souvenir did he write.
Clutched, he was soon out of sight.
The throttle fully wound,
He was soon but a distant sound.
I greet you today, in shock and with great awe, as a certifiable ‘Silver Surfer’.
A formerly-unionised follicle, occupying a prominent position just fore of my left ear, no longer hews its given hue. As you might imagine, I am devastated.
I’ve been hearing rumours for some time now, from those around me, that I harboured peccant follicles, but until this morning, in stark view, stood their leader…an inch-long thug, gleaming in silver rebellion.
The precocious bastard lies atop his brethren, taunting me in the face of outrospection, coaxing me to a plucky fight. His following is no doubt close at hand though, waiting, building in strength. Does one dare invoke the wrath of the hued many by eliminating the ashen few?
Having dwelled on this quandary for some time now, I have decided that grey hair is better than no hair.
Despite our differences, a memorial service shall be held in honour of our fallen pigmental comrade. There are none so brave as those who dyed before us.
I’ve just cooked some Bolognaisey-pastarish-spiceyeo-type thing. I’ll say that again…I cooked; a meal.
I shit you not; there were FIVE lines of instructions, on the spice & pasta box alone!
Nothing broke, blew up or died. Granted, it’s only been about twenty minutes since I ate, but I’m confident that I’ll see the night through. That’s progress, in anyone’s book.
Thankfully, as always, Mrs. Balls came to the rescue.
Gratefully, dessert just requires a tin opener and a spoon.
Here then, is proof, that reading, in quantity, doesn’t necessarily result in high-quality linguistics.
Perhaps one should consider replacing that Mills & Boon-esque tripe with something of more substance?
Eats, shoots and leaves.