Thanks for that Magiceye. And to be fair to you, I think you'd be the kind of person with whom I could enjoy some good conversation and a laugh.
We all have bug bears and I'll let you in a little secret of what is mine (especially in Ireland). You're queueing to get on a plane after check-in, your seat is reserved, you're "priority" and the second the flight is called there is a fast gallop to the departure desk like the back of the plane...
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... was going to arrive at a different time to the front of the plane. Cattle in a mart would behave better than the people once in the queue. So some of them arrive within the plane and somehow find their seat discovering seat A1 is followed by seat A2 behind and so on. That doesn't stop our travellers eyeing every row somehow thinking that seat D42 might be behind D3. The aisle of the plane continues to fill up until nobody can move frontwards or backwards. The people inside now want to park their baggage as near as possible to their seat. Immediately, they decide I must get my sandwiches out of my case and therefore another reason to stand up and stay standing in the aisle.
Sometime later, Matt and his entourage of two find their booked seats and of course one or both is already occupied by somebody who wants to hold his girlfriend's hand in case she'd somehow get lost during the flight. Being the placid people we are, we suggest they remain in our seats and of course they don't know what seat numbers they had already booked.
After several announcements we all get settled, but there are those who wish to visit the loo in a state that the entire cabin is about to be filled with urine as the toilets in the airport bar were not clean enough for them. The door of the plane door gets closed and we are on our way (usually behind time).
But, my bug-bear doesn't end there. The plane arrives in Alicante/Murcia/Almeria and happily the back of the plane arrives the same time as the front of the plane. The plane stops on the tarmac and suddenly nearly everybody jumps up, opens the overhead lockers and an announcement is made for everybody to sit down and remain seated until advised to get up. Nobody obeys and there is somebody's rear-end in my face whether I like it or not. The plane now moving slowly towards its disembarking point but the mob continues to take heavy cases from the lockers and pass them around and over the heads of people like me. I have to confess on occasion the case was accidentally dropped on me. Now, I keep my hands raised for our protection. Eventually, every passenger leaves the plane - Whoooo Hooooo!
But, it doesn't end there. the mob has now elbowed it's way through Immigration Police eventually finding their passports wherever they had put them. Handbags are emptied to find junior's passport and about two hundred people make their way to the baggage carousel. The line which you must remain behind is ignored and baggage collection resembles a scrum of two hundred people being knocked out of the way and even larger cases thrown around like undersea mines. Being seasoned travellers Mrs Matt and I have markers on our bags that can be recognised from Mars and we simply collect them and move to the transfer bus without delay. The mob is still arguing over the identical bags which most purchased through some supermarket sales offer.
We're sitting in the transfer bus - front seat as we were first to board - Is everybody on board? - Noooooo!. Three are missing and are eventually found drinking cheap coffee while smoking enough fags to give them instant terminal lung cancer. Eventually, they board and look at us placid passengers like we were the cause of Covid-19. Usually one of them asks us to vacate our seats as they prefer the view from the front. I look at him like he was Jack-the-Ripper and refuse to move. We set off for Vera, Garrucha, Mojacar. The bus driver is challenged about stop off points - he has no English. Eventually, he stops the bus and rightly demands that nobody is to talk to him (Good Man Paco! says I to myself) on grounds of passenger safety. "Los Alatyones" is written in large black letters on an apartment complex. "Is this Los Alatyones?" say several. One or two of the mob hears me speaking in Spanish with the bus driver. Suddenly, I'm the resident expert on where to buy beer, cornflakes, sun-tan lotion and water. Paco sees that I'm the most helpful person in Christendom and asks me to stay in the coach for a little longer. I should point out that at this stage he has just reached the limit of his patience and perhaps Barcelona are playing live on television too? I help him and eventually we are dropped at our apartment.
So, if anybody has a query that has been answered on hundreds of occasions on this forum, please feel free to ask again. I'll help if I can.
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