Back with a bump

Just when I get used to the pace of London and the small apartment and putting a suit on to go to work, I'm back into travel mode and on my way to France once more - following my ever so familiar route from North London to the Languedoc. Actually the familiarity and repetetiveness of the journey is quite reassuring. It makes the whole thing very stress free because everything is in it's order and it's place and happens as it has happened a hundred times before on all my previous journeys. I know what to do to make it easy and I know what to expect at every stage.

So when the cab driver arrives at home in London I know he will say what a fine/dull/wet/cold morning it is, before confirming that I am going to Tottenham Hale station and then asking if I am going to Stansted. Affirmation of this will bring forth a sales pitch for taking me all the way in the cab, which I will politely decline because I already have a Stansted Express ticket, after which silence will descend apart from the overly cheerful attempts from Capital Radio to awake it's listeners and the odd muttered expletive from the cab driver in the direction of other road users.

On the Stansted Express I will talk to two people. Somewhere between Tottenham Hale and Harlow/Bishops Stortford, the ticket inspector, always male, will say "tickets please", then scrawl on or stamp my ticket, to which I will say "Thank you". The young lady pulling the buffet trolley will ask if I would like any "drinks or snacks", to which I will say " No, thank you".

At Stansted I will go straight to the security gate, where I will be asked if I am carrying any liquids or toiletries, which I won't be because I never do. I will wait patiently, while non-regular travellers go back and forth through the metal detector because they have not removed their keys/phone/money from their pockets. I'll be one of the first on the plane and then it's a well trodden routine of "Please sit anywhere after row 3/4/5" and "This is your captain speaking" followed by "Two at the front, one left and one right" (accompanied by the appropriate hand gestures), "any drinks/snacks", "any rubbish/empties", "flight crew, ten minutes to landing", "welcome to Carcassonne ten minutes earlier than scheduled" and finally "thank you for flying ryanair, we look forward to seeing you again".

But today the calm stress-free routine was blown away right at the last moment when the pilot decided to dump the plane on the runway instead of the usual smooth-ish landing. He came down so vertically that he must have thought he was flying a Harrier jump jet rather than a Boeing 737. I'll be surprised if the runway isn't dented. The woman next to me exclaimed aloud "that didn't seem right". "Not right!", I said, "That was rubbish". Whilst waiting to disembark, the head stewardess apologised and laughingly said it was the first officer's first flight. I said I hadn't noticed the 'L' plates when I boarded and maybe he needs a bit more time on the flight simulator, which made her laugh all the more. She was the only one on the plane laughing.

The genius was there to meet me and asked if I didn't mind going home via our favourite DIY store, Tridome, for a few bits and pieces that he needed. A few bits and pieces he said - a good walk round the aisles with a long list in his hand - and another €100 euros gone in the blink of an eye. That was the second hard landing in the space of an hour. So much for comfortable stress-free travel.