Blog Entry: 2
So, like the Japanese bullet train, the lorry we had hired to pick our stuff up in had arrived bang on time! This was no surprise, as I hadn’t hired it from just any company. I had rented from Palmer & Martin, namely my contact there, the absolute fucking legend that is, James Palmer. He is the one doing the two-finger gun salute in the picture at the bottom! And for anyone wondering who is on the roof, that’s Jess’s brother James. That is his shed, but you really don’t need to know why he is on the roof, consider the amount of alcohol consumed, getting on the roof was a fucking stella achievement! This was a photo I took from our last Sunday beer session at the uber exclusive and equally legendary ‘Bar 36’!
For those that know me, the idea I have someone else driving all our possessions instead of me doing it myself would raise eyebrows. I’m that guy, who, when faced with a job that will cost. I ask myself first ‘can I do it myself?’ (without fucking it up royally) or if not ‘can I learn to do it myself?’ some call this approach ‘cheap’ but I preferer to think of it as financially responsible and frugal. On this occasion the conundrum is ‘I don’t not have a fucking HGV licence’ and probably had never considered the trucker life thanks to Jeremy Clarkson’s description of truckers on Top Gear years ago. I had however sorted the majority of our shipping requirements, including building our boxes onto shipping pallets and packing the large items into pre-made crates. All set to fly halfway round the world. Much to Jess’s earlier reservations of my abilities, standing here beside it all in its packed glory I couldn’t help but feel confident, happy and a little proud with what had been achieved. Jess, while probably a little impressed too couldn’t admit this yet, for any couple that have been together over ten years you will fully understand this relationship dynamic. While looking at her for any glimmer of praise, the only look I could see on her face was one of thought, more likely remembering the endless nights over the past months, cataloguing, wrapping and organising what was in the boxes. Most of which was done alongside much arguing, ridiculous amounts of laminating and a good fucking load of prosecco (see photos below).
After loading up with zero issues, I said goodbye to my parents, got into the lorry and we were on our way to Heathrow. Well, when I said ‘we’, I meant the lorry driver and myself, Jess decided to stay a little longer. Her parents were driving her straight to the Hilton Garden Inn. This would be interesting; Jess and her dad are very likely to argue if left together in a confined space for more than 2 minutes without alcohol. Not to mention the smell of the leather in her dads vintage burgundy G-Wagon makes Jess want to hurl, something only further exacerbated by the fact her dad defies the laws of physics when he corners at speed in said G-Wagon. It’s like a 4-wheel drive Citroen CV, leans massively, but hasten yet tipped over……. yet! Now yes, we could have taken our stuff the day we flew out, but no, just fucking no! I could not deal with the fact the stars would have to align for us to stand any chance of keeping to what would have been a military schedule. No! Instead, we had a nice one-night stay planned at the Hilton Terminal 5 hotel. We planned to spend our last night in the Hilton’s roof top bar, which overlooked the sea of runway light high above Heathrow. We would enjoy some nice drinks have a little food, no doubt Jess would insist we take some tacky ‘turning point photo’ of us on our ‘last night’ in England, to which I would eventually concede to……. Well, that was the plan anyway, then in comes flu again to fuck that up, like a swarm of annoying children at a wedding.
So instead, we had very overpriced food delivered to our room and the view……. the entrance to Terminal 2, with its constant carousel of taxies and Ubers, see the picture below. You can tell which ones are the Ubers as they come in at the pace of Colin McCray on the last stage of the WRC and if he had just taken a gram of coke up both nostrils. The only thing I know that’s faster, is those delightful folks at Lidl. You know, the jolly ones at the tills! The ones that lob your groceries at you as if their pitching for the New York Nicks in the world series. It’s like they are trying to fuck me off! Needless to say, after our first trip their Jess suggested it best I don’t shop there again! First degree murder would seriously affect our visa application.
“Jess ……. JESS, get the fuck out of bed!!” I’m shouting at her not because there is not a fire or an emergency, this is a normal morning conversation, no different to any Saturday, Sunday, holiday, weekday, or any morning with Jess for that matter. It’s like she has managed to hold onto the teen stereotype of not getting out of bed till stupidly late in the afternoon. But she is far from a teen and is supposedly a mature adult.
Her response “fuck off, I’m getting up, I have loads of time!” she said this whilst snoozing her alarm for the 7th time this morning, instilling me with much confidence! I can promise you after 13 years with Jess, I really wish I could time travel so I could stop the snooze buttons invention. But this was no ordinary day, this was flight day no.1!! Yes day 1, thanks to yet again flu, we now couldn’t fly directly to Calgary, Alberta. We would have a 3 day lay over in Toronto first. Well, when I say Toronto what I mean is the Hilton hotel near Toronto airport, as we would be under flu house arrest. Oh, and not to mention the abuse that was the price hike due to flu! I was fully expecting a travel size pot of KY with the bill. The only good thing was I asked the question, “if I’m paying penthouse prices can we at least have the penthouse suite?”. To my surprise he said yes, this did make it much easier to accept. They also extended us the same rights as pet dog, we could go outside for a walk twice a day. We would later find out the ‘SAIT penitentiary’ was far less civilised.
First, we had to get there and after herding Jess into the shower, we ate our cold room service breakfasts, and we were off. First hurdle, the normal weight issues when checking our bags in. Someone refuses to weigh her bags accurately, luckily, I managed to balance our bags out and it was on to the next level, my favourite part…... This is the bit where Jess gets to dig at me, I’m that guy who takes more camaras and electrical devices with me on the plane than anyone. I make the fucking challenger spaceship look unequipped! So, I’m that guy that knows I’m getting searched and because Jess only usually takes a small backpack with emergency snacks, hand cream, an oversized purse, tissues and a collection of shitty gossip mags, she has never got searched and is alien to the process. I was fully ready to unpack and repack, I have done this so much I have my shit down to an art form! I have OCD with packing, it’s why I can put 30KG into a bag most would struggle to get 10KG in. This however causes more issues. If the checking guy wants to take it all my shit out and put all my shit back in, he stands ‘bob hope’ and ‘no hope’ of achieving this. But this was a glorious fucking day, I sailed through. The day I might possibly have topped my record for items in one bag and nothing! …… But wait ……. what’s this? I watched as Jess walks over to the desk to have her stuff searched, oh this will be interesting!
Now for the true understanding of why this would be interesting, we need to back up 3 days. The last ‘final’ clear-out, of the bedroom at my parents we used after moving out of our flat. Now like any modern couples willing to be honest, we have a stash of kinky dress wear and bedroom toys and Jess didn’t want the electric one’s going in the hold as she thought the bags might get held back. This leads to a discussion, one where Jess made the point, that I was a ‘fucktard’ because ‘I take half a Dixons store with me’ on a plane and said I would get searched, she proposed taking them in her bags, the same bag a mature lady probably in her late forties was about to pull apart. I so badly wanted a pop-out chair! You know Like the guy on the Facebook gif. https://media.giphy.com/media/DM9n9fNry8tq0/giphy-downsized-large.gif, and take a seat for the show! The one guarantee would be Jess was bound to warn her of what was inside prior to her just pulling it out, right. ……. no. At that point the woman had started unpacking Jess’s bag, to which Jess had said fuck all about what was inside! I looked at her, she looked back, she looked confused, she gave me that look of “why the fuck are you looking at me?” so ow well, I had tried. Then it happened she pulled the clear plastic zippy bag out! Yes “clear plastic zippy bag” like a fucking display case! don’t worry I had said in our discussion nights previously a clear bag was a mistake, but it was dismissed, and the bag was still used. So right now, ‘bugs bunny’ and his crew were as obvious as a 16-year-old me, buying alcohol and as I looked at the lady conducting the search, she knew exactly what she saw in the bag and what they were for. In a raised voice with a big grin, she said “looks like some one’s going to have a very good holiday!”, drawing further unneeded attention, just in case everyone including a family (from parts of the world that have strict laws on sex) hadn’t realised what my wife had in her carry on! I watched my confused wife’s face go from ‘what the fuck are you looking at’ to OH……shit…. that’s why you were staring! She finally realises and as she did, she got a little embarrassed and with a sense of urgency packed her items away. You would have thought she would be ready and would deal with the situation differently leaving Toronto, but no. The same thing happened, only this time the young Jamaican gentleman who searched her bag looked far more uncomfortable and slightly confused, for me this made the situation even funnier. I love you so much Jessica Stoneman.
