Pissiness And Photos

After spending last night watching scary movies with - among others - our two comrades from last months epic Ryanair disaster, it occurred to me that I never really explained just what the hell happened.  Seven weeks on I don't still have the same hatred in my heart as I did at the time, so suffice it to say:

1. If you're running an international airport, you should make sure the person making announcements speaks enough English to be comprehensible;
2. If you're announcing a flight has been cancelled, you should probably give at least a few more details, and when you direct passengers to the internet to find out what's going on, you should probably check the wi-fi in your airport is actually working;
3. If you're running an airline and you cancel a flight because the pilot doesn't want to land in rainy weather (our pilot-to-be was the only person who felt this way that whole day, but I don't want to be second-guessing whether a potentially lethal activity I know nothing about is possible or not, so, fine), you should probably not tell people the next flight is three days away, you'll have to pay for the resulting three nights in a local hotel, which they should reimburse you for later on, perhaps;
4. If you're on the customer service desk and people are asking where else they can get a flight to Birmingham from nearby, you probably shouldn't be directing them to travel 90km in order to get a flight two days later rather than three, especially when it ultimately turns out the flight is to Bournemouth.

 Thankfully point 4 proved not to effect us, as we were able to hurriedly book an early evening flight to Southampton, and then hire a car (go Europcar, by the way; the only people to come out of this clustercuss at all well) to get home.

So that's that, then.  I don't want to linger on the horrors that concluded our French trip, though.  Instead, here are some lovely photos Fliss took whilst I was busy learning conjugations whilst writing and drinking in strict rotation.