Wednesday, 19 September 2007

My flight home from hell

You have got to be fucking kidding me?!

I rocked up at the airport to find the BA flight that Anthony had assured me would pick up from Cancun and fly directly back to LHR was in fact this:

His catastrophic flight bookings have probably cost the Corporation at least half a day of My Time (due to having to get over the jet lag, not having a 'rest spa' awaiting me at Heathrow, screaming fucking kids and goats sat RIGHT BEHIND ME.)

Check-in at Cancun was a nightmare. Queues as long as Elaine Bedell's latest expense account. Managed to get an aisle seat, but this mattered little once on board and the fucking SCREAMING KIDS STARTED.

I complained to the dumb short-sleeved-wearing air steward and stated that I was The Youngest Channel Controller in British Television History in the expectation that he would immediately upgrade me to Business.

But he just shrugged his unmanly shoulders and waltzed off, probably to stick a fucking pram in the overhead cabin.

The nightmare continued once we had taken off. The fucking children behind me carried on their crying and screaming, whilst I tried in vein to raise the volume on my iPod. But fuck all. Those expensive headphones couldn't block out the irritant noise.

Only 45 minutes into the 10 hour flight, I felt like kicking the window in. I really did. (Time I did a show about sensible, cleaver people "doing" air rage I think). Was in no mood to put up with the rude tourists returning back to England having spent their two weeks of sun in some secluded 3* all-inclusive resort eating western European food with the occasional taco thrown in and listening to La Bamba every night in the basement disco.

Finally landed, crawled through passport control and stood outside Terminal 4 looking for my car.

I waited.

And I waited.

And then I fucking waited some more.

2 minutes wasted.

Got the fucking BlackBerry out and emailed Anthony.

"Where the fuck is my fucking car to take me fucking home, you cock?"
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

I got no reply, and ended up jumping in a black cab that cost £43.75.

Someone's got a P-fucking-45 waiting on their desk tomorrow morning!


Anonymous said...

Suppose your security pass doesn't work when you get back?

Anonymous said...

poor tvc - the nightmare will only continue - when you are back at your desk (they have changed the potplant)and you will find out that Ben Gale and Suzanne Gilfillan have been commissioning stuff for YOUR channel. what's going on? did they not check with you and your blackberry? please explain.

oddchild said...

If only you had gone to Phuket...

Anonymous said...

TVC, get on home and take over the Corp! Rumour is abound that the entire annual budget of "Storyville" is equal to five episodes of that wannabe, derivative import, "Heroes".

The world needs your itchy (cheap) reality to free up cash to buy more 'cheap' imports for BBC2 and pay more managers to fly to LA and buy them!