Took Pol for her second eye stabbing yesterday. They said she's getting better which is encouraging but she'll have to keep having the injections for the rest of her life.
Woke up very anxious about euros and catching buses. Pol started hassling me about when she could take me to catch the bus from Braintree to Stansted (£24 National Express for a half hour trip - £4 more than the return flight to Poitiers!) and I got more and more sweaty and anxious. I think drink just kept me in a perpetual state of blissful sedation, although I have noticed myself enjoying foreign travel less and less as the years roll by. Forgetting things, losing things, missing things. I'd much prefer moving around with all my possessions on my bike, at my own pace, no aim in view, no schedule that matters. We did meditate together, which didn't hurt. A nice blue sunny windy day.
The rage. NX bus 20 minutes late, no explanation, no information, no apology. And she sits there for 5 minutes before starting up again. Rude notices all over the airport - 'NO SMOKING NO VAPING ANYWHERE' and various others I cannot now remember, including I suspect threatening notices about threatening and abusing the staff. Try saying please and thank you you stupid *****. I felt like getting out a felt tip and adding 'Please' to every bossy notice I spotted. If I get the NX bus back to Braintree it will have cost me £50 - 2 and a half times the fare to Poitiers. RyanAir should offer an end to end deal home to destination using public transport.
My unhappiness and anxiety is I think down to fixed, certain arrangements - this plane, this bus, this train (and no other) and the consequences of missing any one are expense, disappointment, loss, because the certainty / finality is in someone else's control. If there are no arrangements, there is nothing to miss - the way I used to feel, felt travelling from Wefan to Naxos - que sera sera. Even Naxos was an unknown, as cycling to France would be an unknown.
I wanted to do a Jesus in the temple act after going through security. What felt like a wibbly wobbly mile through endless consumer opportunities (a sign to the Escape lounge, which seemed entirely appropriate) and offers to taste the latest whisky, smell the perfume, sample the sushi. Munich Airport where are you? (You have to go downstairs to the shops / car rental - the check in, security and path to gates all on one lovely uncluttered level and straight walk. I'd pay double the fare for that.
Thinking about Pol and the divorce (sort of brought on by CS Lewis' A Grief Observed). I've been going around thinking what a good person I was about it - left when she told me to, no lawyer of my own, signed away any claim against her at Christmas, no rows or bad temper (one screaming abuse session after she bugged me all the way back from Pinky's about my map reading, which made me feel so much better). Then I remembered a cavilling little email and spreadsheet I sent her lawyer pointing out how much I had spent / paid / given Pol, which maybe rather spoilt the effect of my noble self sacrifice. Except that she was then accusing me of wasting her and her lawyer's time and money which was so grotesque a version of what I was actually doing (no lawyer or costs of my own, no resistance to her requests, just a wish for that to be acknowledged).
And I've bought a fucking smoothie with my airport meal deal that calls itself 'super orange' only it's got fucking mangos, celery, passion fruit, carrot, apple and lemon in it as well - so why on earth is it super ORANGE!? RTFM idiot.
and the airport wifi is so insecure google refuses to use it.
mr angry.
This is my first real trip since Greece last September (I don't really count Christmas, which was just a long train journey). Quite shocked about the number of drinking opportunities and invitations I've seen since arriving at the airport (about one every 10 metres). No wonder they have a problem with air rage. I've got it, in spades, and I haven't even had a drink.
Andrew and Dilith met me at Poitiers airport and we went to Costorama (think a B&Q but 5 times the size) to buy sinks and showers and then home to Bonnevaux to meet Trish (Irish, from the Beara peninsula, on her way to Thic Nat Thanh's community near Bordeaux). The house is wonderful and I suspect will only be spoiled by the 'improvements'. It was a monastery until the revolution and then a private house. We meditated in the salle a manger, and then had supper, and Dilith played the piano and sang for us after. Up to bed (I think I'm in the nursery, two little rooms off mine with truckle beds) and slept until 7:02, in time for tea and fag and meditation.
Woke up very anxious about euros and catching buses. Pol started hassling me about when she could take me to catch the bus from Braintree to Stansted (£24 National Express for a half hour trip - £4 more than the return flight to Poitiers!) and I got more and more sweaty and anxious. I think drink just kept me in a perpetual state of blissful sedation, although I have noticed myself enjoying foreign travel less and less as the years roll by. Forgetting things, losing things, missing things. I'd much prefer moving around with all my possessions on my bike, at my own pace, no aim in view, no schedule that matters. We did meditate together, which didn't hurt. A nice blue sunny windy day.
The rage. NX bus 20 minutes late, no explanation, no information, no apology. And she sits there for 5 minutes before starting up again. Rude notices all over the airport - 'NO SMOKING NO VAPING ANYWHERE' and various others I cannot now remember, including I suspect threatening notices about threatening and abusing the staff. Try saying please and thank you you stupid *****. I felt like getting out a felt tip and adding 'Please' to every bossy notice I spotted. If I get the NX bus back to Braintree it will have cost me £50 - 2 and a half times the fare to Poitiers. RyanAir should offer an end to end deal home to destination using public transport.
My unhappiness and anxiety is I think down to fixed, certain arrangements - this plane, this bus, this train (and no other) and the consequences of missing any one are expense, disappointment, loss, because the certainty / finality is in someone else's control. If there are no arrangements, there is nothing to miss - the way I used to feel, felt travelling from Wefan to Naxos - que sera sera. Even Naxos was an unknown, as cycling to France would be an unknown.
I wanted to do a Jesus in the temple act after going through security. What felt like a wibbly wobbly mile through endless consumer opportunities (a sign to the Escape lounge, which seemed entirely appropriate) and offers to taste the latest whisky, smell the perfume, sample the sushi. Munich Airport where are you? (You have to go downstairs to the shops / car rental - the check in, security and path to gates all on one lovely uncluttered level and straight walk. I'd pay double the fare for that.
Thinking about Pol and the divorce (sort of brought on by CS Lewis' A Grief Observed). I've been going around thinking what a good person I was about it - left when she told me to, no lawyer of my own, signed away any claim against her at Christmas, no rows or bad temper (one screaming abuse session after she bugged me all the way back from Pinky's about my map reading, which made me feel so much better). Then I remembered a cavilling little email and spreadsheet I sent her lawyer pointing out how much I had spent / paid / given Pol, which maybe rather spoilt the effect of my noble self sacrifice. Except that she was then accusing me of wasting her and her lawyer's time and money which was so grotesque a version of what I was actually doing (no lawyer or costs of my own, no resistance to her requests, just a wish for that to be acknowledged).
And I've bought a fucking smoothie with my airport meal deal that calls itself 'super orange' only it's got fucking mangos, celery, passion fruit, carrot, apple and lemon in it as well - so why on earth is it super ORANGE!? RTFM idiot.
and the airport wifi is so insecure google refuses to use it.
mr angry.
This is my first real trip since Greece last September (I don't really count Christmas, which was just a long train journey). Quite shocked about the number of drinking opportunities and invitations I've seen since arriving at the airport (about one every 10 metres). No wonder they have a problem with air rage. I've got it, in spades, and I haven't even had a drink.
Andrew and Dilith met me at Poitiers airport and we went to Costorama (think a B&Q but 5 times the size) to buy sinks and showers and then home to Bonnevaux to meet Trish (Irish, from the Beara peninsula, on her way to Thic Nat Thanh's community near Bordeaux). The house is wonderful and I suspect will only be spoiled by the 'improvements'. It was a monastery until the revolution and then a private house. We meditated in the salle a manger, and then had supper, and Dilith played the piano and sang for us after. Up to bed (I think I'm in the nursery, two little rooms off mine with truckle beds) and slept until 7:02, in time for tea and fag and meditation.
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