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Schipol airport was incredibly packed for a Sunday morning and there as a queue for check-in (or rather baggage drop off as we’d already done the check-in online) that took me back to the bad old days of air travel. We were stupidly early for our flight, but all passengers seemed to have to queue in the same bit. Even though we were given preferential treatment for having a baby and were siphoned out of the queue after a mere 45 minutes (when we just got stuck in another queue behind a family who took another 30 minutes to check-in - we finally managed to jump across to another line and they were still checking in after we’d finished) it was still a nightmare. What’s the point in having a baby if you can’t jump all queues? That’s the only reason I did it.
Even though we were sent straight to the front of the queue at security, both of our bags needed to be scrutinised more closely, so we were kept waiting for another 15 minutes. Phoebe took all of this in her stride. Her parents were less philosophical about it. But it’s a testament to how efficient air travel is, even in the face of terrorism, that this 90minute+ trudge was so remarkable.
And once we’d negotiated all this we were able to pop up to the airport lounge (even though we were flying economy, our bank gives us a card that gives access to the lower end business lounges). And even though it was only just midday, it was also my 48th birthday, so I was delighted to see that in the lounge they had a beer tap where you could help yourself. What a brilliant present? How did they know I liked beer? This was perfect, much better than the horse parade thing, which although I appreciated the effort, was a bit embarrassing for me as horses aren’t really my thing.
I got nicely, lightly pissed with three beers in the next hour. I hoped no one would judge us for getting on a plane, squiffy, whilst in charge of a baby, but nobody seemed to notice or care, least of all Phoebe. The plane was packed and there were more delays and although our baby got a bit impatient as we waited at the gate, during the flight she was sweet as pie and slept or charmed nearby passengers with her smiles and giggles. Who is this monster that we have created?
Call me a fair-weather friend, but I am glad that I got to spend the day with this tiny idiot who I didn’t even know this time last year (as well as my brilliant wife who I didn’t know this time last decade). My brother pointed out that I have now turned 16 three times (and am starting on my fourth cycle), which depressed me as I’d been thinking that I’d only turned 12 four times, which somehow seemed less bad.
I mean, shit, 48 is pretty old and the countdown begins with 24 months until I turn 50 and have another mid-life crisis breakdown and write a stand-up show about it all. The ride down this hill is speeding up and the scenery is whooshing by, but at least I have managed to deposit some of my DNA in a vessel that should preserve it for another 80 odd years and hopefully pass it on in an ever diluting form until only my vestigial tail remains in some future otherwise super-evolved being.
We drank more. I had some old-fashioneds like Don Draper and then drunkenly drew round my hand about 150 times (if you get a hand numbered in the 400s then it’s definitely a birthday one).
