Category Archives: Flying

Ah yes, the joys of travel. Off to strange lands, to see culture at its best. (Inspired by a blog on Bonnywood Manor/Wordpress- Present Tense-#9 (and our trip to Old Scotland that had a few similarities.)

A Breath Of Fresh Air.

It was wonderful to depart the plane in Spain
After a flight at the height of the tourist season,
Yes, it seems I’ve picked up the travel bug again-
Ten hours of recirculated air would be the reason.

I thought all would be well once at the hotel
But upon arrival, well, sadly I was not,
So I laid my heavy head on the pillow a spell
Awaking to find no piffling sniffle, this was snot.

No, no not for me a sick bed holiday,
I was dying to see the Medieval sites,
Down the cobbled streets I made my sway,
To climb to the castles rarefied heights.

Thus we began the now-historic climb;
Those first steps were hewn by a craftsman;
Higher up steps were taken to cut the time,
Carved by ‘prentice or cut-price artisan.

No miss-step was quite the same,
Some a stretch, some one leapt up;
Any stonemason worthy of the name
Surely should’ve looked, then stepped up?

At every switchback, at every frikkin’ fork
I’d clutch my ribs and cough and blow,
Down every declivity I’d hack and hawk.
My apologies and sympathies to those below.

But I’d climb my Everest of a mountain
Though snot ran in an unending stream,
At a thousand steps and still countin’
It became more nightmare than tourists dream.

Ah, but when one steps upon the crest-
Oh, the view is quite breath-taking,
I clasped my hands to my breast-
It’s a heart attack in the making.

Advertisements

Another one to throw out there, off the top of my head. Much like the dashing debonair pompadoured Donald did, actually.

Thin Skinned And Thick Headed.

Don’s having a bad hair day today, lets be blunt,
It sits imposingly on his head, but back to front,
It’s thick- ever so thick, from hairline to crown,
Long enough to slick it back and stick it down.

There its lacquered and all but tacked in place;
For a balding man he’s got it all ass-about face,
Donald is inordinatly proud of his golden mane
But one puff of wind shows it is all in vain.

Donald thought flying on Air Force One would be a breeze. Now he’s up there, running his trembling hands through his hair.

Swept Away In Style.

Donald has perfect hair of platinum gold,
Its a creation that’s a wonder to behold,
But as he boldly boarded Air Force One
All saw Male Pattern Baldness had begun.

The back of the great mans pate
Gleamed in a barren and hairless state,
His lustrous locks have long since thinned,
His careful comb-over, gone with the wind.

The only one worried his hair has gone
Is the ever youthful, even childish Don,
But you can guarantee, after today
Don’s investing in a toque, or a toupee.

A bad companion piece to ‘all part of the fun of expanding ones horizons.’

In Full Flight.

Sixteen hours of fractious flying
Next to a baby who won’t stop crying,
How sweet it will be to hear the sound
Of lips on tarmac when I kiss home ground.

Oh, the joy of being able to sleep a piece,
To surrender to Morpheus’ sweet release,
Far far away from a cry baby that won’t quit-
And a mom who invests in diapers that fully fit.

What the not-too-seasoned traveler has to put up with you wouldn’t hear about. Then again, I guess you might.

Head Banging Stuff.

Sat waiting at the terminal, interminably bored,
Then came an announcement for the last passengers to board;
‘This is your last and final call,’
Rang round the Customs hall
‘We’re waiting for passengers Yang Tang and Wang,’
Sounded like like the chorus from some 70s song ABBA might’ve sang.

(And I quote- true story, that.)

Let’s look at all this tinsel and glad tidings, lords a’leaping and convivial yuletide merriment from a slightly cynical point of view. Hey, It’s all about the giving.

That Flippin’ Old Reindeers Tail.

As Christmas cheer and the shortest day quickly draw near
I sneer at those believers in Santa, presents, and flying reindeer,
In matters of Christmas spirit Scrooge and I are of the same view,
The seasons the reason for cold-hearted merchants to turn the screw.

The notion of presents coming in the night?
You’re either six years old or not quite right.

On Christmas Eve I cast a wintry eye o’er the holiday forecast,
News of zero and below brought on bad memories of Christmas past,
As I espied the first falling snowflale I was filled not with joy but sorrow
And the certain knowledge I’d be up to my a- ankles (or deeper) in it tomorrow.

The sight of the snow a’settling on my window ledge
And my cracked-soled size nines put my teeth on edge.

‘Twas midnight when I woke to something clattering on my roof,
Something was afoot, but I couldn’t believe it was something ahoof,
Right up till I stepped out onto the roof my doubts about Kris persisted,
But one look at my shattered shingles confirmed Dasher and Co. existed.

I stood, cursing the Christ…mas out of the falling snow,
Did I hear, up there,a tinkle, a mischievous Yo ho ho?

He had good reason to fly, without goodbye or by-your-leave,
So though I hadn’t actually SEEN him, you bet your ass I believe,
It takes fresh tangible evidence for this sceptic to change his mind,
Sadly Santa- or at least the reindeer- had left heaps of presents behind.

Now ’tis not the chill of icy snow I dread,
It’s that warm sinking feeling wherever I tread.