We're off in sunny Spain – having a sunny time, sweltering, sangria-ing, and waiting for our missing luggage to turn up. Staying at the inlaw's wonderful appartment, modelled on a classic Fred Flintstone / Bedrock style, well-stocked with beer, and centred on a circular blue pool. At the local Mercadona one (or more) can purchase litre bottles of a cerveza pilsner beer called Aurum (Gold) at 0,65€ - and you know what, it's pretty darn tasty. ¡Ole! 65 cents a litre – crikey ; I'm staying.
Did I mention our luggage hasn't joined us at our destination. Blame EasyJet – useless bastardos. It's the first time I've ever flown EasyJet, and the first time any airline has forgot to put my fucking luggage on the plane. The shrugging Spaniard on the complaints desk didn't offer an apology, but did say we would have our luggage within 24 hours. That was almost 30 hours ago. In that time I have been sweating in shorts and a vest belonging to my (soon-to-be) father-in-law. I had a small wealth of gaily coloured vests and delightfully bright Hawaiian-style shirts packed in the case and waiting to be given their first wearings. Sad times. Blame EasyJet – they suck.
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| to distract me from easyjet's incompetence |
Just sent a wee tweet @easyJet, @easyjetcare, and @easyjetservice to express my minor dissatisfaction. But I didn't mention that all of my holiday so far has been spent waiting for a box of my own clothes to arrive ; a box which should have got here at the same time I did ; a box which a fucking syphillitic goldfish could have managed to sling in the back of the plane.
It's lucky I decided to let my fiancee ride in the passenger compartment of the plane, instead of contorting her into the suitcase like usual. She'd still be god-knows where, being trundled and trawled carelessly about by that group of feckless, forgetful fools that ride under the collective noun of EasyJet. The collective known of idiots, morons, and travelling football fans, is an easyjet ; an easyjet of idiots. Between us we can start that meme.
Next time you are sat in a beautiful beer garden trying to enjoy a quiet Sunday afternoon, and your peace is being disturbed by a collection of hooting, guffawing ninnies in rugby shirts, you can say ; look at that easyjet of prats, wish they would shut up. Someone should go and shut that easyjet up.
Still, I've used my time wisely having installed something on the balcony to provide some shade, made some salsa (my own v v basic recipe – perfect for salads, burgers and nachos), started back on the ol' blog catch-up, read a healthy portion of my beloved Christopher Hitchens' memoir Hitch-22, and started on Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy.
As if to answer my tweet, yer wee man from easyjet has just turned up with my suitcase, saying I have your order, here is your order. Yep, thanks for my order ; I ordered one suitcase full of my own possessions, to be delivered over a day after it's required. Perfect timing. Now to shower and get changed. Pheee-ew.
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