contempt
“Barborous Wretches.” - Cromwell, re; The Irish people.
“You are not getting a refund, so fuck off.” Michael O Leary, CEO of RyanairÂ
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Just back from Strumpet City. Fun weekend, but never - EVER - fly Ryanair. If they give the tickets away (and, I believe, they often do), run. Run to the hills.
Cabin crew that look (and sound) like they’ve been hired straight from the cast roll of an early Almodovar movie. I swear, the inflight safety demo might as well have been a Catalan folk song sung to the tune of Riders On The Storm, it was that clear. And the “Pull sharply on this tag, or blow into the pipe to top up the life jacket.” Did each conjunction of that sentence really need to be greated by “Oye!”, a round of applause, and a rattle of castanets by the rest of the cabin crew? I mean, really?
And the rest of my fellow Customers (or, as Ryaniar likes to refer to us, pigs)? Well, they, quite frankly, scared the bejaysus out of me.
Ground staff - and remember, these are the first contact the customers have with the airline - that leave you waiting 40 minutes before they deign to make an appearance, and are then revealed to be so completely covered in raw flaky eczema that your passport turns into a snow globe when they hand it back. Not so much flaking as shedding, and with attitude like you would not believe.
A ’special’ terminal in Dublin Airport that is actually a Nissan hut 15 minutes walk from the main terminal. A nissan hut with a coffee shop that quite clearly houses Ireland’s national - oh, fuck it, international - museum of sticky coffee cup rings on it’s tables. A place of such unremitting, unendurable grimness that, had it been the only exit gateway from the country in the 1850’s, the population might have stayed to face the famine.
Ryanair, in short, is quite clearly run by the descendants of the late and unlamented Oliver Cromwell.
Vile. Vile. Vile.
Next time, I’ll just flap* my arms real fast, and face west…
More Dublin gossip later, including: The priest in a bed controversy. The Auto-Nun on a chair scandal. The car that wouldn’t start. The dog that didn’t bark, and the purchase of an iPod from a man who would have been my neighbour, if things had turned out differently…
Oh, and by the way, do NOT get me started on the indignity and, frankly, coal black humour of a man who spent his whole life wrestling freaking crocodiles getting offed by a fuckin’ fish. Life: What can you do?
 (*I know: Me? Flap? Unheard of…)
September 5th, 2006 at 3:15 pm
Good to be home then?………….
September 6th, 2006 at 11:05 pm
we went ryanair when we all went to dublin to see madge, i vowed never to travel them again, espeacil when a boy not long out of his mothers womb was telling me my bag was to big to go under the seat, the power trips kids have, did he not know who i was!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!