Tag Archives: air travel

What not to wear when travelling

airport

Airports are wonderful places for people watching. Where is everyone going? Why are they going there? Story after story can be imagined, nothing is impossible. But there is one thing that knocks me out of my reverie and invokes the letters W, T and F:

Airport fashion crime.

As I often say in my head to the person tramping tourist trails in stilettos: What were you thinking? What was going through your mind when you decided that was the most appropriate thing to wear?

This is what not to wear to the airport (I saw someone wearing very similar treating the VIP lounge like it really was somewhere for VIPs rather than just normal airport space with less chance of finding a seat):

airport-fashion-1

Here is what I wear to travel in (and by extension of that I assume what most normal Earth dwellers wear):

scarecrow

There are a number of reasons I can’t/won’t go to the airport dressed like a fashionista:

1.   I save all my nice stuff for the actual holiday

I don’t have enough on fleek outfits to waste them on a glorified bus journey. Anything decent I do have is safely packed away in the suitcase in a plastic bag (in case any toiletries leak). I will choose wisely during the holiday when the appropriate time is for those items to appear – too soon and they may not be clean if a more fitting occasion arises. Sometimes those clothes don’t even see the light of day such is my desire to keep them spick and span, ready for if royalty should unexpectedly join my package holiday.

2. The K-Factor

Kids. It’s hard enough to keep yourself clean when you’re safely across the other side of a table from them, but levered into a space the size of the monk’s suitcase? Not a chance. The last flight we took, my husband settled his warm derrière on a Malteser that had rolled across from our 5-year-old in the next seat. You can imagine what that looked like when he stood up.

That’s the low end of the scale. If you’re unlucky your child might pee on your lap or fail to hit the 2cm x 2cm gap that forms the opening of an airplane sick bag. That’s really unlucky – but also highly likely – so best not to be in Versace.

3. Spillages in the course of going about your everyday business

“The harder you try to keep something clean, the more likely you are to destroy it” (Messrs Muscle and Sheen, 2003). To give you an example: In a bid to take my tray from the stewardess in a safe fashion – ie using two hands – I once placed a bottle of drink between my thighs for safekeeping. As I manoeuvred the tray, an elaborate and unexpected muscle sequence occurred that caused my thighs to contract and squeeze the contents of the bottle onto my crotch. Turns out the blankets you get on planes aren’t that absorbent. Result: looking like I’d peed my pants and the walk of shame to the toilets. But silver linings, folks! At least I wasn’t in a white silk dress and a black thong.

4. Is it so bad to just want to be comfortable?

Whilst some people may be happy to sit through a 13-hour flight with their leopard skin leggings riding up their crack, I’m content to forgo a mile-high wedgie in favour of some old-fashioned comfort. I may even slip off my shoes (or at least loosen my laces). If my family would let me I’d wear my granny slippers as I traversed the globe:

slippers

Life’s too short to be retrieving your stiletto heel from an airport travellator (nope, it’s not a catwalk). Your designer bag may look awesome on the crook of your arm, but are you able to fit all the sh*t in there that you need? I’m rocking my rucksack, baby, with its stink from years of sweaty trainers. And when I do get a foil dish of scolding hot unidentifiable airline food in my lap, I’ll have had plenty of space in my hand luggage to stuff a spare pair of cheap joggers. If I’m really lucky they’ll even be clean.

Flying with kids: a note to the man in seat 11B

plane travel

When you become a parent, you soon discover a lot of things that will make you feel really rubbish at your job. Sometimes it is your own children who wield this power but more often than not it’s other adults. I am writing this post whilst being made to feel like the most awful parent of the most terrible children in the world. As it is so raw, you must forgive any lack of compassion on my part. I’m not in the mood for putting myself in someone else’s shoes (or flight socks in this case). Being quite cross does that to you.

I am on a plane. A shortish flight of 5 hours. It is 7pm and the kids have been up for nearly 12 hours. The period before take-off is one of the trickiest parts of a flight for anyone shepherding small people. It’s that tortuous time when you’ve yet to fire up the iPads and have just realised that by packing the wrong flavor of crisps all hell will be set loose. What you don’t need at a moment like this is for the man in the row in front of you to ask to move seats. Before you’ve even left the ground.

So here are a few words to you, man in seat 11B. The words that thankfully won’t leave my mouth now that I’m placing them safely on paper.*

You don’t have children, do you? I don’t say that in a looking-down-at-you kind of way. I’m just stating the bleeding obvious. If you did then you would understand that overtiredness plus being strapped into a seat don’t make for a quiet child. You’d understand that telling me to take my child “for a walk” is going to wind me up. If you were a parent, I also doubt you’d have such a ludicrous hairstyle – adults learn that with the responsibility of children they have to grow up a bit. However much we might try to resist morphing into a grown-up, there are some ‘styles’ that just don’t cut it on the school run. Sorry to get personal with you but I take your reaction to my child very personally. Touché.

My 3-year-old may have shouted when I dared to produce those wrong crisps. He may have kicked the back of your chair. You may have overheard me tell him that he shouldn’t do that, but considering where your head seems to be firmly stuck I’m surprised you can hear a thing. Let me tell you, my friend – if you didn’t have your seat reclining then the little legs behind wouldn’t have been able to reach you so easily.

I thought perhaps you’d asked to move because your seat was broken. (I kindly gave you the benefit of the doubt and was prepared to tolerate having your ridiculous hair-do and incessant nose-clearing in my lap for the whole journey.) This turned out not to be the case as your seat was fine when the cabin crew asked you to put it upright. That you put it straight back down again as the woman walked away is testimony to your arrogance. I wonder whether you would have done the same if it had been an adult rather than a child behind you. Not that I’m questioning your manhood. Perhaps you think you need your seat reclining because you are so generously endowed in that respect. But I’ll hold back from any further comment on what/where/who is the enormous c*ck.

So whilst you appear not to like my children, there are – I know you’ll find it hard to believe – quite a lot of things that I don’t like about you. I’m tempted to make the remaining four hours of your journey hellish. Fortunately for you the kids are now firmly plugged into their entertainment and no amount of bribery could entice them away to scream in your ear or perform the 1812 Overture with their feet on your seat (which is still reclining). I do hope though that one day you will be on a plane with your children and someone will ask to move away from you. You might feel rather small and remember that once upon a time you were a bit of an ar*e. For the moment I think I’ll just read a dinosaur book quite loudly – I really hope I don’t wake you.

* Postscript: After much huffing and head-turning on the part of the man in seat 11B (or Mr Nobby Nobhead as I now call him), my son accidentally jogged his chair and sparked a full-on row. I don’t say boo to a goose so it takes some provocation for me to shout at or argue with a stranger. Suffice to say, my suspicions were confirmed – the man in seat 11B is indeed an idiot.