Airport Parking for our friends by born4thesurf
Walking around the art galleries of Paris seemed
an extraordinary, unnecessary and pointless
ordeal. It's not that I don't like art, or her
friends, but if I didn't go then I'd only be at
home sat around feeling miserable and missing
her. My girlfriend of the past 6 months didn't
deserve a loner antisocial boyfriend, so I
decided to do my best and walk around some
cultural landmarks of France feeling miserable
and missing home.
Another downside of this most definitely
nightmare journey was the melee of friends she
was bringing. Jane from Cardiff, Sarah from
Glasgow, Chloe from Leeds, Jess from Bristol,
Emma from... whatever happened to just having
friends from across the road? Surely there could
be some kind of friend swap system online, it
would make things a whole lot easier on the
environment.
Then there was the monetary cost. Ok, so she
offered to pay for my flight from Heathrow
Airport, parking included possibly, on a
non-budget airline, which means I should be able
to get a coffee without doubling the price of my
plane ticket, but what about getting to
Heathrow? She was flying from Leeds-Bradford
airport, parking her car there. So I was to
drive 2 hours to Heathrow, parking my car there.
How much would fuel and airport parking cost? It
seemed there was a whole mini-industry around
these airports determined to fleece you every
step of the way.
I sat there and looked out across the valley and
thought why bother? The apparent futility of
looking at pictures that I could just see in a
book or online seemed a picnic compared to the
stress and financial decimation of a 5 hour
'journey' consisting of traffic jams, plane rage
and getting jostled by screaming hordes of
tourists in Paris.
Instead of trying to look on the bright side -
baguettes, cheap wine, the vague amusement of
looking at things on buildings but it being
spelt in a foreign language - I then worked out
how much this whole trip was going to cost
everybody and what more meaningful alternative
was available.
Oh I forgot, that busybody Mary who I sincerely
believe hates me for ever having the audacity to
associate with her friend is flying from
Newcastle airport, parking her car there. I'm
losing count on the number of friends, was there
a Ruthy or Amy? What's that one with the back
combed blonde hair that always seems to be on
her way somewhere else when she's just arrived
at a social gathering? Okay, to go on the side
of caution I make it seven of us, then multiply
that by what I imagine the costs for each will
be, and it comes to a number which, given the
lack of proper research, I give incredible and
faith and respect to.
It's a vague and possibly wild guess at the cost
of flights, airport parking, drinks and meals,
but I arrive at a vague and possibly wild figure
that amazingly comes to the exact amount needed
to buy me a 250cc Vespa scooter and a full tank
of petrol to allow me to drive off into the
distance and never be seen again.
I grow less enthusiastic at this prospect as it
dawns on me that I eventually would meet someone
new in some far off place beyond the mountains
and lakes that I would merrily drive by, and
then be coerced again into trips to art
exhibitions and museums.
Its not that I don't appreciate culture, or even
going abroad, I'm just not particularly partial
to spending prolonged periods of time in the
company of my girlfriend's friends while they
get all excited over some drawings. I like to
shoot through galleries, you could call it
speed-culture, and others might just call
immaturity and impatience. I should learn some
virtue, but I feel I would need it in the first
place to get more of it.
Outside it's a bright sunny day, and this
supposedly ideal holiday weather translates to
me the hideous concept of sitting in traffic
jams with searing heat and choking smog. I add
another hour to my drive time to the airport
parking lot to allow for the inevitable delays,
wrong turns and motorway tailbacks.
It's nearly time to book my ticket and arrange
the Heathrow airport parking online, so I call
her to check the weekend break is still on and
there hasn't been some sort of collective
despondency and desolation akin to mine on the
part of her friends... and of course there
isn't. I try one last polite, understated course
of evasive action by implying that since all her
friends would be flying from different airports
it might be tricky all meeting up. She replies
firmly that that wouldn't be happening since
we'd all been booked into the same hotel. She
cheerily adds: 'I'll be using the Edinburgh
airport parking, it's simple and
straightforward, why don't you use the meet and
greet parking at Heathrow?'
I sense a faint glimmer of hope in this
seemingly disastrous escapade - yes I suppose I
could pay more money to make travelling less
inconvenient, even though I could save a lot
more simply by not going away at all.
Yet I find it difficult to find a reason not to
agree, which makes me feel miserable and
helpless as it increasingly becomes apparent
that I am fixed on a path to art gallery and
theatre going oblivion. I look again for a
bright side, but the light at the end of the
tunnel is a fluorescent energy saving light bulb
that hangs over a watercolour by Monet.
She detects, or guesses, an element of
discouragement in me, so then encouragingly
adds: 'It'll be a great experience baby.'
'That's what scares me,' I think to myself.
After I put the telephone down I consider why
I'm actually going. I guess whatever it is we'd
be doing together, it's not the hassle of flying
and finding airport parking or whatever, it's
being with her that really counts.
About the Author
Airport parking is made easy with websites such
as Purple Parking. Whether it is Heathrow
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