On next Wednesday, the 30th day of April, I will take my fair lady on her very first trip to the ould country. And, as an introduction to Irish planning and our general outlook on life, we will be spending a night in an airport.
Now this is not as crappy as it sounds (although still undeniably fairly crappy). Using the services provided by Mr. Ryan and his fleet of flying contraptions, we will be transporting ourselves to Stanstead airport. And then we will have to sit and wait 7 hours until our next flight, to Cork, at 6 something or other in the morning,
This gives us 2 options: trying to find a hotel at midnight within range of Stanstead and paying a fortune to stay there for only 4 hours; or simply hunkering down in the airport and trying to pass the time until we can get on the aeroplane and haul ass to Cork.
So option 2 it is, and I am glad to report that we will not be alone. Every night a whole lot of people sleep in Stanstead while waiting for Mr. Ryan to warm up his aircraft. In fact, there are whole websites devoted to the topic of sleeping in airports, where the facilities are rated according to comfort, friendliness, hardness of floor and so on. Stanstead, apparebtly, is not too bad if you get there early and grab the least uncomfortable plastic benches.
We will not be there early. But luckily there is at least one cafe open all night so I aim to bring a computer and, while my brain is frazzled by lack of sleep, try to write something creative. But if A, on the other hand, doesn’t fancy joining me sitting up in a cafe until the wee hours (and why should she) I will try to placate her with a sleeping bag and a set of fresh earplugs and the least hard bench I can locate. I can only hope she doesn’t call the whole thing off when she sees what her cheap Irish boyfriend’s idea of a fun evening turns out to be.