Bucket list 3 (Day 1)

My journey again starts at Newcastle airport. Last time the place was packed. Now it’s a different story.

Airports are strange places. Such transient spaces where you glance at people, who are dispersed over the world and you probably will never see again.

IMG_9795.jpg

The first time I travelled to Prague was on the stag do plane. You can read about that venture here. This time I plan to fulfill the reason I wanted to go to Prague in the first place. I want to meet a porn star.

(If you are of an erotic disposition please don’t continue. I don’t want to offend those who find ‘adult entertainment’ wrong.)

It’s odd really, that we live in a world where a lot of people have access to a platform that has a huge amount of information and where millions to get their jollies.

Some see porn as a thin end of the wedge; depending if you prefer wedges or hinges. And believe me, there are a lot of each on the net.

maxresdefault.jpg

I’ve always wanted to meet a porn star. Can’t imagine what it must be like to have to share something, which is so intimate a thing, to the rest of the world. But what is it you’re actually selling? It’s not a snapshot or even a sometimes a ‘snapchat’ of your relationship or marriage. Unless you decide that’s the sort of thing you want to give away.

It must be a lonely profession. With all that ‘interaction’ and ‘contact’, you think the novelty would wear off pretty quickly unless you are diagnosed nymphomanic with a huge sex drive.

Anyway, I’m on my first flight of the day as I’ve ditched the stag do flight and gone a slower and cheaper route. My first stop is Düsseldorf and I fly with an airline that sounds like a European pantyliner (thanks to Gregory for that joke).

Eurowings (tee-hee) is a German-based airline (at least I think it is) as they asked in German what I would like to drink. I replied with my order but didn’t receive what I asked for. Practice makes perfect Philip.

There is a bit of turbulence and I’m clinging to that armrest again. As I mentioned last time I’m not a confident flyer. At least I am not swearing and praying loudly like my father did once when he was flying back from France with my mother. She told me she was so ashamed of him when they were just about to land. That was a fun journey home.

There’s a baby crying. Its mother starts to nurse him with an aim to subdue. There’s something quite surreal when you’re near to suckled breasts at thirty-five thousand feet. A spoilt teenage girl in the seat in front of who can’t sit still. She was huffing and puffing when told she couldn’t have her bag with her on take off but had to store it in an overhead locker. I can’t understand why people cannot behave for one hour of their entire life.

The complimentary sandwich had bread that had passed a couple of days sell by date and rigor mortis had set in. A steward tried to use a defibrillator on it but for the wheat based snack, the game was up.

I arrive late and tired. I don’t want to go out. The hotel bar is more than enough for me tonight. The waiter is twenty-four and is easy on the eye and somehow we talk about shaving and he inadvertently lets slip that’s he buys razors to shave but not his face. I stumble in embarrassment and sickening delight as he laughs it off. That’s the new generation shrugging off the old. Shave the pubic hair and have done with it.

Bed. On my own.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

the barefoot tree

Still grumpy

Gari Wellingham

UK-based musical theatre geek previously living with a brain tumour!

%d bloggers like this: