Coming to America

Now that the silly season is over I can start counting down to my next holiday [even though I'm only just back from one!]. Its now twenty three days away.

We're going to Florida for a week. Sarah one of our friends [a colleague of Davids and an ex-colleague of mine] has a house in Naples and, as it's her 50th birthday, a whole load of us are going to go and cause a bit of mayhem in the Land of the Free. In the party there's Davis & Myself, Sarah and her hubby, Mike [also a Copper], France, Sarahs sister and her husband [who are also publicans] whom I've met several times but I've always been pissed and can't remember their names, and another couple who I don't know but also run a pub. It promises to be a boozy do.

The bit I'm not looking forward to is the flight. I'm not frightened of flying, I just hate dealing with the cunts who work for airlines. This time we're flying with Virgin. We've flown with them before [the last time we went to Florida] and they're shite. I don't get all this crap that as soon as you mention flying with Virgin that people say "Ooooh, Virgin, they're brilliant". Why? Just because you get a pair of paper socks and a toothbrush doled out by some fifteen year old whore in bright orange lipstick, it makes them superb? I think not

If they were as all-singing-all-dancing as the tattoo / sovereign ring brigade say, then the trolley dolly's wouldn't get into such a fukin strop when they see you getting your Embassy No1 out!

Also, as we're going to Florida, chances are the plane is gonna be full of half dead kids all having chemotherapy instead of the inflight meal, shedding their hair everywhere and coughing cancer laden blood and sputum all over the seatback screens.