Last Christmas - Part 1

Down here in the Isles, there are dull days and then there are duller days. Clouds loom; the wind blows at a couple of knots and you’re generally dressed like you are headed on an expedition to the Artic. Stores in the city centre are displaying their autumn winter collection and you’re sill struggling to wonder how any amount of fashion can make you look smart in a skullcap.

But the script is not entirely one of gloom and lack of sunshine I should say. Every now and again, the BBC forecasts bright sunshine and clear skies with the same amount of enthusiasm as the arrival of Santa Claus, reindeer et al. And on that odd sunny day, you must be a darn fool if you don’t rip off your T shirt, put on your army dungarees and head to Hyde Park glasses of lager in hand. To lie around and do nothing in general, lest you ask ‘For what?’. But all said and done, along with your sunscreen lotion, you might be well advised to stuff your slinger bag with a foldable umbrella as well. Just in case.

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Anyways, December last year was not one of those sunny bohemian days. Ever since we got onto Expedia and got conned into buying the most expensive air tickets to Zurich, the weather had progressively deteriorated. We cared not for the weather as much as we did about every other bloke who claimed he managed to get return tickets for as much as we paid one way. We’re going Swiss Air we tried consoling ourselves; but resisting the urge to shoot the one who clicked the confirmation button on that Expedia deal was still considerably difficult.

But the week leading up to the Swiss land trip ended up turning more dramatic than we would have liked. Weather turned bad to rubbish. Visibility from poor to ‘am I blind?’ types. Flights were getting cancelled helter-skelter. Talk shows on BBC1 were discussing the woes of not having additional runways in Heathrow. And finally, when it reached a stage, where you could hardly see your colleague sitting next to you in office (mild exaggeration), we knew things were turning tragic. Buying expensive tickets and feeling cheated is one thing. But buying expensive tickets and not getting to go even, is god level sadness.

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Two days prior to Christmas. Phone rings.

“Hello Guls. You ok mate”

“What ok. Did you see the weather forecast?”

“No”, I mumbled fearing what but the worst. If we had hoped for things to clear out in the lead up to Christmas, we were grossly mistaken. The forecast predicted that visibility was bound to deteriorate to the most superlative form of poor known to man, on the day we were to be strapped snug on our Swiss Air flight. I looked out of the office window. It almost seemed like we were acting in some bloody cloud scene for a mythological flick on Doordarshan.

“BBC is all shit”, Guls continued optimistically.” We will check weather.co.uk. I could hear him clicking away at the other end. But when he concluded that all of them are shit, I knew no one was telling a story any different. We were damned; no questions asked. All those BBC coffee table discussions were right. Heathrow should fuckin have more runways. And the Kyoto protocol should be signed by all. If needed at gunpoint. And if none of the above, then Swiss air pilots should have IR vision to navigate flights through black nothingness. Please.