Ordeal by Ryanair

A far better ride up to Stansted than I’d feared: we left home at 08:00 and were there by 09:10 with no hold-ups, and not even a queue at the tunnel.  At the car park we were straight on to a bus to the terminal.  This meant, of course, that we had time for an extravagant second breakfast at the airport, and enough exposure to the Great Unwashed to acclimatise us to a couple of hours with Ryanair.  The flight got us here in just bearable squalor and discomfort, and on time.  The fellow at the Hertz desk persuaded us to upgrade, so we drove home in a rather large Korean Chevrolet 4x4 with leather chairs and all the toys we’re used to, plus a few, such as a reversing camera and satnav.  The gearbox is a bit old-school – we are used to the double-clutch DSG box, so it’s a bit of a come-down to have to use a jerkomatic box with a slush pump.  It does the job, and it’s nice not to have to think what to do with that silly third pedal that one usually finds in hire cars this side of the pond.  But I prefer to detect gear changes with my ears rather than the anagrammatic arse. 

The house is standing, and the fire is working well after an initial sulk.  We’ll take a ride along to see the firewood man tomorrow, I think, if it isn’t raining.  Thinking of firewood suppliers in times past, I’m wondering why the street isn’t full of our neighbour’s vehicles.  He used from time to time to provide us with the odd stère of wood – usually as green as can be – and parked his moribund vehicles in front of the house.  This incidentally tended to lead to our walking his oil leaks into the carpet.  We’re rather hoping that his family has outgrown the flat round the corner.  Watch this space.