Getting to Paradise is anything but...

Anyone who has firsthand experience will agree that a holiday is never more deserved or earned than immediately after being stuck on a still gated plane for 10 hours – not able to get off, not able to take off. It is incredibly stressful – the ultimate state of limbo, that perhaps only Tom Hanks can trump. The sheer anxiety of wondering whether or not you’re ever going to take off is enough to send even the most gentile passenger into a clammy, overheated and red faced, aisle-activist:

In March last year I was due to fly out from Heathrow, and by way of Deli land in Bangkok – city of Smiles (and bedbugs) to spend a month with my almost estranged Californian girlfriend.

I got to the airport on time – that is to say, several hours early – and checked in my luggage with growing frustration at the pace of the queue. Shrugging the anticipated queue ordeal off my shoulders I sauntered to my gate head full of anticipation and excitement.

Good news! As a gate announcement said we’d be taking off 30 minutes early. This was so the plane could slip into an earlier taxing spot and evade predicted poor weather. “Thats a good idea, im certainly not complaining!” I thought - full of pep and potential energy. But that particular plan went awry when the cabin crew arrived 1 hour late. Consequently we ended up boarding the plane 30 minutes after the original time, not 30 minutes before.

What is obvious now, but alluded me at the time, is that delays have a concertina effect and a 30 minute delay can really mean ‘at least 30 minutes’ because now this meant we missed our taxing spot and had to wait for another. During the wait the snow came. The snow we wanted to avoid by leaving early.

I will avoid the minor details, but after a long wait with no announcements, people started to get agitated. The pilot finally trumped up some phatic hyperbole about the snow coming in and us waiting for a new time slot to take off (If this was a game of state the obvious she was doing a good job.). In fact, out of the total of three announcements that were made during our 10 hour gailing on the unmoving plane each was more and more obvious and late...I’m not even sure there was a pilot on the plane in the first place, perhaps there was just a camera linked to a room in a hotel somewhere. I say this because the most candid proclamation the pilot made was right at the end of our flightless flight when she stated that “we should all go home as there were simply no rooms left in any nearby hotels” – how she could possibly know that with such conviction is beyond me.

During this largely muted 10 hour strike at the sufferance of the passengers the crew also became angry and agitated. Now I would say (with my best hostess’ smile) that whether its agreeable or not, emotional labour is an institutionalized requirement of a cabin crews skill set. For me personally the cabin crews visible mood change wasn’t much of a problem – at least we all looked to be in the same boat (plane) now and in truth I am not an advocate of the superficial plastered on smile worn by staff members. Especially when you know that sometimes they harbour nothing but resentment and distain towards the very same person they are aiming the tooth clenched smile towards. That is not to say I think there shouldn’t be a level of respect towards passengers and I feel obliged to mention that at one point an elderly Hindi man approached a crew member to ask for a glass of water, and the retort was a sharp hissing “No! Go and sit down!”. “So much for bridging the gap and rallying together” I thought.

It gets worse. You know the irritation people within the whole fuselage feels when a baby is screaming? Well seemingly on purpose and all in unison - as if imbued with hyper senses that meant they knew something we didn’t - 3 babies started wailing and they didn’t really ever stop (I imagine to this day they are faced head up to the ceiling screaming like Regan MacNeil). As we were approaching our 5^th hour on the plane...at the gate, we were told that the plane needed to be de-iced. Imagine my shock as I watched the plane to the left get de-iced and then skipping us move to the plane to the right. Both planes then took off.  This was the moment I witnessed a fully grown man break down and cry.

The de-icing truck eventually turned its plastic trunk towards us. It spurted for 45 minutes and then disappeared. Now I should mention that when the de-icer started, and for the duration until it was finished, the air conditioning had to be turned off. So when the truck disappeared after 45 minutes it was already getting very hot, muggy, heavy and uncomfortable. The passengers were very agitation, and by now in desperate need of hydration – to either stop or stock up on their tears. The de-icing truck didn’t return for another hour and the air conditioning was left off! The truck finally sauntered back to our lonely plane and continued spewing over us (a good analogy to how we felt we were treated), and nearly 3 hours after it started, it stopped. 3 hours with no air conditioning.

After this point people thought that surely the plane would now get into the air; other planes were taking off as the planes either side of us had, the snow had stopped, the sky looked clearer, and so did the ground outside. And we were ice free. What else could go wrong? After a relatively short time, maybe 30 minutes, like Chinese whispers a rumour spread – this is how we got most of our information in our borderline mutinous cabin, it turned out to be true: If we took off at that point, which presumably we could have, at some point in the air the crew would exceed their maximum working hours which are understandably limited. So why the need to keep us on the plane for 8 hours?! Ive since done the maths and unless I missed something it suggests that even in the very best scenario I was forced to sit on a plane, extremely anxious, ill-informed, and increasingly angry and claustrophobic for 3 or 4 hours more than was necessary. Probably longer. This is when I witnessed two passengers raid the crew cupboards - possibly for any liquids to hydrate, or more likely liquor to sedate.

Soon after this we were released. We emerged into the light of the airport like bleary eyed hominids emerging from a dark cave into blinding sunlight – hair dishevelled, eyes burry and red, smelly, angry and confused, almost reluctant - I felt as though I had a mild case of Stockholm syndrome. Also trepidation, as if from the pan into the fire, because we all knew that stepping off a plane at the same airport you boarded is rarely a good thing, and over the next few days acquiring another seat on a new flight and during bad weather would be fraught with even more stress and woe.

Even though our flightless flight was honestly hellish, the only reason we were all on it for so long and that there was no bloodshed, was because we all honestly felt as though we were going to take off. Now we were offloaded, we all thought that was the end of our holiday/reunion of a loved one/or wedding. Now I previously mentioned that the pilot’s crystal ball had told her that all the hotel rooms in the area were fully booked. So when we bungled out the front of the plane we were all given a number to call which would tell us automated flight information and then we were all told to go home, be that in London, Sheffield or Worthing in my case. Luckily I actively disobeyed this didactic oration, and met a group of four girls from Bristol. Together we walked to the unnamed long haul company’s information stand (it rhymes with Air Windier).

I feel sorry for the people who did go home, because amazingly we were told they were endeavouring to re-seat us on the first available flight in the morning – some 7/ 8 hours later! When we boarded for the second time and 15 hours after the first, fantastically half of the passengers on this plane were familiar to me and my new motley crew - we 5 hardened travellers. Half of us were from the previous flight! However, this flight was also delayed for over 3 hours. It was around this time that somebody picked up one of the crew phones, dialled 31 for ‘Pilot’ and hysterically shouted down the line demanding information. The cabin crew were aware of what had just happened and tentatively beckoned the man to his seat. For the duration of the flight to Deli our luckless bunch were given a whole food and drink preparation area to ourselves to which we promptly turned into a makeshift mile high Euro/Indo bar. Honestly, a majority of the duration of this flight eludes me but when we got to Deli, myself in amongst this group of disbanded diasporic travellers I had become a part of, had to wait a further 9 hours for our connecting flight.

One and a half days after I arrived at Heathrow Airport and finally I set foot on Thai soil. Beside myself with excitement at the prospect of seeing my girlfriend as well as delirious with fatigue, and with a lot of rime to make up I set off post haste to the train station.

Unfortunately, that initial flight out would set the tone of the whole following month, but what I am thinking now is that I am owed 1 days holiday, and reparations for the unforced delay that occurred. If you look back to the beginning if this story I mentioned that we were due to take off and the crew were late which had the knock on effect that snowballed into the 10/15 hour delay incurred. It was not the snow that caused the snowball. So taking this into account, and the other instances of terrible service or outright neglect during what is my case and what should I be reimbursed? My flight cost? 50% of it? And just how common is this occurrence?

When Life Gives You Lemons Think Laterally:

Dear Reader,

In a locked room I have fought tooth and jaw in a battle of wits and tempered frustration to finally emerge victorious against 'The ID'! I have written an article that, I at least, deem noteworthy and encouraging to others in a similar situation. 

Regarding the article, I would say that the fact I tapped the buttons on my keyboard and didn't bludgeon it with a blunt object makes me victorious as this was a venting exercise designed to re-new my focus towards a truly frustrating and thankless self inflicted mission - MA funding and sponsorship sourcing. Since I now have 2000 coherent words and not a pile of techno rubble in my palms it would be foolish of me to squander such an opportunity - especially since there is only a finite amount of time every year that this topic is relevant and hot!

So, without further a-do here is what I have written from me to you (and me):

1 knock, 2 knock's, 3 knock's, 4? How many setbacks can a man take before he either completely gives up and the last sinew of supporting nerve finally snaps sending him plummeting downwards, or he does something totally elevated from his usual energies and transcends into a new chapter of his life?

When you are trying to reach a goal but the harder you try the further back you go - as if your trying to break some fundamental paradox – it creates a constant draining narrative that plays in your head on loop - occasionally inspiring, but mainly a growing monotonous drone analysing your current life and how to become better. Then looking back into your past, near or far, to look for blame.

Something spontaneous and with an energy kicked into gear! That is the polar end desired of this two option scenario. To lay down and give up leaves you with an attitude of ‘nothing begets nothing, therefore I am alone’ and we do not want that.

With an energy that is a multitude of times greater than your daily reserves you must channel this sudden force and use it for good! I think this is happening to me as I type, but I need to explain so let me set the scene:

I am 27 and life has been catching up with me for a while. Now all of a sudden its caught up and rudely shunted me in the posterior at a calamitous rate. When you are smart but have thus far not found the 'right' career you get very good at moving at the easiest possible pace very effectively. I live at home with my Mother and my younger Brother – who tolerate me. I feel like an adult sitting in a cresh-pen dressed as a baby, and who would get up to explain he is in fact an able adult but at that moment realises he’s made a kaka. Because I know I am cerebral and able yet I see how much most of my friends have achieved in their professional and personal lives and it frightens me when I see how much catching up I have to do. Or - for the pessimist's out there - how much further behind I may indefinitely stay.

I have always drawn things out to their last: events, ‘shtick’ and tomfoolery, and chapters in my life, all to their last iota - prodding life with a stick of rhetoric to the brink of expulsion. Not in a “Yeaah extreme! Live life to the max, Woohoo!” way, but in a “ Now you listen hear, ive had quite about enough of this”... (Prod!), “Riiight! Thats it!” kind of way. I have been called tenacious, and stubborn, unconventional and worse, to the point of insult, but these are not necessarily bad traits - albeit slightly narcissistic. This exhaustive attitude can make you appreciate what comes next, and ensures you do not miss what you are leaving behind. Also, in many aspects, you can generally get things done at a lot less personal expense.

So it wasn’t until I was 22 before I went to University. Again in typical fashion I stayed a year longer than normal. I went on a 2nd year exchange to California to study Cultural Anthropology. It was fantastic, glorious, but I neglected my studies and had to retake a module in a 4th year (draining my last bout of student finance). Although employing pig ignorance and lateral reasoning I do argue that it could also imply I have gotten more from my BA than all the rest in my course or potentially even the whole of the University’s 2012 alumnae. It also taught me a stern lesson, and at the humble age of 24 I learnt how to appreciate the causality between integral hard work and having pride in what you do, and the personal freedoms along with the liberating feeling that one has earn't such freedoms and rewards that may occasionally be offered in life as a result. It was a powerful and transcendent lesson.

When I graduated with a 2:1 I was elated. What is more I was potentially already entering into a Post-grad career. Quite touchingly - and on behalf of my old boss, more astutely than a psychic hypno frog - he offered me a position in Marketing to manage the end of line stock – the tertium quids and stuff that could not be shifted. This was a brave promotion to offer and an opportunity I could not pass up. From my position in warehouse logistics as a Packer - actually a fantastic environment full of great minds and encouragement - but true to form: responsibility free and easy, from nowhere I had been handed a brass ring. It hardly ever happens and it happened to me! For me though it turned out to be faux. Not much more than 12 months later I was made redundant. 

Yet again I was my own worst enemy:

I had been slowly realising that Amazonian e-Marketing was not for me, and also due to my late starts in life it took me until the age of 26 to realise that offices with no windows despite the good people were not conducive to a happy Louis. So I checked the hand of ‘Righteousness’ on my ‘wrist watch of mortality’ and saw I still had about 3 years and 2 weeks until I hit 30 – just enough time for me to channel the ample amounts of surplus deluded ideology which I had left over from my first 4 year of University I realised I could pursue a Masters before ‘Real Life’ caught up. I discussed this with the boss and he kindly let me move back to the warehouse and start applying to Universities.

2 months went by, the Christmas rush had died down and I was dead weight. The same week I was accepted to a prestigious University in my Home County and its name sake – Sussex - to study Social Anthropology I was asked to leave, and made redundant. All of a sudden in the rear view mirror I could see ‘Real Life’ in a matte black 69’ Buick Riviera Boat Back Edition flipping me off and tooting its horn.

In my time since then – roughly 4 months - I have struggled to regain a footing. I often have ideas that as I said are inspiring, but I lack the 'business' acumen to follow them through. In my evenings I have time to think and explore the world, and one thing that has struck me is the answer as to why so many people seemingly take the short cut rather than the scenic route and enter into Business BA’s – they on occasion may be boring cardboard cut out managers who largely miss what I think the point of University is (it should be about expanding your understanding of the world and enriching your character, allowing this knowledge to lead you to do something you are passionate about) and therefore sometimes suffer from an inspiration deficit or a defunct personality outside of the board room, but at least they know how to transfer an idea (somebody else’s no doubt) into reality.

I do now work 5 days a week at a garden centre and the event days at Goodwood race course as well as pursuing my hobby as a Writer and Floor Manager for United Magic Film. “All a little too late though!” ‘Real Life’ jeers with a toothy grin “It is your fault you feel this way; you should have grown up sooner!” I get pent up anxiety and bouts of self loathing because I don’t think I can fund my course this late in the year with only 2 months left to save. After rent I am not left with much - although the head gasket on my cherished Corrado - my dear car and compadre of 7 years - did explode last week halfway up the hill towards the race course...so at least I’ll be saving on petrol.

It is the constant inner nagging that also operates as an accountant; tutting and groaning autonomously as it seems I walk the edge between failure and the fiscal leverage I need to feasibly enter into a full time MA.

I have been selling nick-nack’s and treasures on Ebay and auction houses. I have been working for a film production company because it is a passion and it is wholesome and good for me, but sometimes it all gets too much, and for not enough return: Minimum wage jobs; No pay projects; No car; No replies from all the sponsorship letters if have sent out via post and pigeon; And protracted rent expectations due to being part of a low income family coupled with rising inflation and a stagnant economy.

So when does it all just become a bit too much and you either wake up in Estonia with concussion and a bashful return home ahead, or instead you do something creative like write a letter to yourself and whoever else might want to read it in order to clear your head?

Well, even though the modem broke yesterday so I had to trudge down to the local library...just after I tried (without succeeding) to top up my online only mobile account to find I didn’t have the funds available, which lead me to look at a payslip to see I haven’t  been paid the right amount - for the second week running – which then required I ride my bike in the rain to the bank to clear their mess up because the house phone has gone missing only to find my bank has charged me with £75 (!) of standing order fees for the third month running even though they were cancelled 3 months ago...

...NOW! Now is the time for action! There can be no more procrastination!!

We name this baby Sensational

Eye went up to Buckingham Palace quite by chance the same day the new Prince's name was revealed and the hysteria was thick in the air (or maybe the humidity being at 55% has played tricks on my memory).

I love the Royal Family - I love that they are antiquated; that they are essentially only symbolic; I love they're kryos nurture to the nation; and the good word they do as ambassadors and figure heads; I love that people from far and wide know them and come to see them. I am very proud of our Royal Family, but is this particular news feed not a little fatuous? For everybody involved - watching and filming - simply waiting to hear a name?

We all suspected it would be George,  and let's face it if you want unusual and interesting names your better off looking south to Africa - but that would cause a conflict of interest: because all these news crews hunger for is the stupid name of a very particular person. If they went to Africa the news crews would get caught up in all kinds of ungodly mess. Yes: death, civil war, rape, child soldiers, genital mutilation - from east to west ante-Christian cultures dealing with a post Christian corruption.

What is more important though? Take a look at the bigger picture and remember the responsibility the media has to report fair, just, relevant and informative information...what?! The baby has Louis as a middle name?! Woooo!! Nelson who?

Dear Louie. A letter to Louie C K

Dear Louie,

I have an anecdotal allegory that hit my mind and body simultaneously so hard the result was that I had a heart attack. This is how the story goes:

I was sitting in my room in a greatly chilled state of mind and I got to thinking about my day job: I work at a Nursery where we grow herbs. We sell loads! We’re herb dealers. Put that Mary Jane down son, throw that stuff away and pick up some RoseMaray. A thousand unit’s of Basil? Flip that. Ten thousand Chives? Done.

I started to think about the wastage – roughly 10% is grown and then thrown away...Due to it being too high, or whatever. All at once the word’s struck me, and the ‘Bit’ evolved:

So there’s this guy at work, Mikey - If this were Snow White he would be Dopey, and that’s for lack of mentioning his twin: Dumb Ass. One day Mikey came into work, and to the trained eye he was pretty drunk - I mean he smelt like Oliver Reed’s toothbrush did, and does now wherever it may be. This detail went unnoticed by our Manager and he set Mikey the - already in normal circumstances challenging - task of noting and throwing away 10,000 pot’s of Mint.

Well, Mikey got at it as best he could - feeling like he did and being how he is. Where the whole card house came tumbling down was because he also had to note every individual pot he threw into the compost heap: He was throwing two in and getting distracted, and not noting them, and then half realising, and then losing his pen – one time to the compost heap along with a handful of mint – and this went on...What I am trying to say is that he was trying to COMPOST MINT TOSS (!!!Compos Mentis!!!!)  but he couldn’t because he was so shit face drunk!!

Well that’s it for the story, but yet there’s still more!

When this came to me it creased me so hard inside it all got too much. Because what I was doing when I had this thought, was what I am usually doing when I have most Eureka moments – giving my man turkey the old hand jive. This sudden dual responsibility my mind had self inflicted on itself, of trying to process both deeply involved tasks at once was too much – and boom.

Next thing I knew I was in hospital and my first thought was recalling my last thought, as I hit the deck grabbing my neck and my ‘turkey neck’ equally hard: and that was You - not in a gay way but to tell you this little thing that did so much. I guess it’s actually a double whammy - an anecdotal allegory, inside an anecdotal allegory, and the message is: ‘Never strain yourself by tossing too hard if your either A: Drunk, or B: Stoned, because you’ll do yourself a mischief’

If this by any chance gets to you I’d love to hear what you think.

Regards, Louis. G. W.

England.

(N. B, - Fiction)

(Perhaps A Poem) An Inward Look

To the boy who can never keep his big mouth shut, who is surprised when he is beaten down by the wrath of his peers:

What would you do if one day that good hiding got you a broken leg? Would you fly away and cry?

Like a bird pushed out the nest.

You feel sorry for yourself like the world owes you a favour when times are tough. So why make them so tough in the first place?

You have yourself to blame.

Maybe you do have all the right answers most of the time. But who is going to listen when you spit them at people’s faces in a torrent of fury and self importance?

Have you learnt nothing from the religious zealots that you chastise so brashly, and cold?

It is not that the shoe is on the other foot, but the foot seems to be perpetually on the wrong side of the body – turning you round in circles.

If you flew away with a broken leg, would you come back anew with a spring in your step, once you had hit rock bottom?

Will you ever learn?

Me MeMe

MeanyMeMe:

            Immigration Nation: Nigel Farage

Leader of the UK Independence Party, Nigel Farage goes to Bulgaria to scare monger and stir up a story taking advantage of recent media interest regarding EU work restrictions being lifted from some of the less affluent members - Bulgaria and Romania "I think it is completely irresponsible, and wrong. In fact damned stupid to be opening up our doors to people from Bulgaria. If I was a Bulgarian, I would be packing my bags now". Well as it turns out perhaps Nigel's got it so wrong he's completely Bean'd up the whole trip and the political incentive for visiting, as numerous Bulgarians - including a Gypsy leader - reply: "No no, lots of rain, we are not used to the climate", and "I think that the culture there (UK) is lower, even though the people are richer".

Well Done Niiiige.

If you are Bulgarian or Romanian I would be really interested to hear what you think about Nigel Farage's visit to Sofia. Does he have his finger on the pulse of public opinion? Will the lifted EU work restrictions make the UK a tempting migration location for work? Or does the UK's failing economy mean the incentive is simply not great enough? What are the main reasons for and against such a consideration? I warmly invite your comments wherever you are from!

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YumMeMe:

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MeMemorial:

I am very sorry to hear of the recent fatality of Andrew 'Bart' James Simpson. He was a former World Champion and Olympian sailor from Surrey - very local to me. He recently passed away whilst racing in the America's Cup in San Francisco at the age of 36. He won a Gold Medal in the 2008 Beijing Olympics and a silver in the London 2012 Olympics. 

With deepest sympathy I wish his family good fortune and send my condolences.

United Magic - Bringing Film (and a bit of magic) Back To Sussex:

Something some of you may know, but most of you wont is that I am part of an up-and-coming 'grass roots' production company based in Worthing: United Magic. We are essentially a group of 10-20 graduates or final year students specialising in film or media related degrees. We are passionate about creating exciting innovative film, or works that help and promote local enterprise and exhibition. We are a young, bright bunch, who enjoy the art and want to make film not just as a hobby, but vocationally. Having a role and talent for every occasion and technical niche, I sometimes feel like im a part of the A-Team. FACE!

I am posting this blog today, because in a few weeks we embark upon our most aspiration project yet! In the first week of May the full crew and a cast totaling some 25 active minds and mouths (to feed - one of my high ranking tasks) will start filming a short psychological horror in one of Worthing's spooky old seafront hotels, using the working title 'The Graveyard Shift'.

(Click on this link to hear more from Director Jonathan Brooks & Matt Prior about the background and inspiration to 'The Graveyard Shift' as they talk to Alan Lewis from Splash FM)

If you would like to contribute to our project and help fund our career bolstering, experience building, monkey-not-yet-so-high-up-tree-bottom-is-exposed movie you can watch our Pledge Video on Kickstarter.com (in itself this website is worth visiting). We are humble and not too proud to ask for donations!!  There are tiered incentives, so maybe you'll see something that catches your eyeballs.

As I mentioned we have a varied medley of past works - Our archives are not yet so deep, but are as broad as (Alexander) Boris (de Pfeffel) Johnson's full name. Perhaps you have an inspiring or interesting idea or concept you'd like to tell us? Or perhaps you'd like to look at our back catalogue? Thats cosmic! Here is a link to the United Magic website - "thuD!"

'United Magic Website'

We are always open to ideas and welcome interesting potential projects and free pizza, so feel free to contact us! I personally cant wait to get started! Thank you folks for reading.