Now that's what I call a Saturday afternoon!

Now this is what I call a Saturday afternoon. This was the title I applied to this picture. I sat back in the stool and sighed with pride and satisfaction. We were airside at Birmingham. I had flown from the airport many times. There used to be a smoking balcony on the bar, directly opposite security. This is the one I beelined. I rocked up and ordered a cold pint of Heineken, straight-up. As the bartender was pouring, I asked her about the smoking balcony. Unfortunately, it closed.

This was the spot anyone who had any life left in them would be standing, post security. I’d be there, of course, with a drink and usually holding a cigar, a big fat one, oosha!  This time, it was the drink and a high-top table, but I wasn’t complaining. I had two hours before my flight. I have seemed to have gotten into the habit of arriving at the airport far too early. I’m used to checking bags. Now, I get whatever I need when I’m at the other end, either that, or I already have it.

Now this is what I call a Saturday afternoon, making it picture of the year, for sure

 I stood up to check the departure screens. There was plenty of time and the advice on comments was to relax, and relaxing I was. A member of the bar team approached the table next to us to collect glasses. Our eyes met, and I began to explain where we were headed. I spoke at length. He stood, listening with a smile. He was a nice guy. He told me what it was like to work in an airport. I’d always have it down as a good place to work. Everyone there is in a good mood and this must rub off on the working environment. Either that, or your but hurt, you’re working and everyone else is going on holiday.

From being one side of the airport fence to the other, goodbye, hello, indeed

There is no better way to spend a Saturday afternoon. There are football matches, there’s the weeding, there’s going on walks, there’s the housework and then there’s sitting in the departure lounge at a bar with your favourite drink. I was lapping this up, big style. I scanned the floor, and it looked too calm for my liking. I stuck on my Bose QC 45 II headphones and put on some music. This did the trick.

I remembered the many times, before, I’d attend the airport, either working on a story for the news or picking someone up, but not travelling. This went on for five years of my life. I’d just stare at the planes, and hadn’t the cognition to actually put myself on one. This had ended. I was travelling, averaging about two a month at the minute. This is called making up for lost time. This is called making up, in an extreme way, for spending five years of my life, without an air trip. I used to say, if it’s not on a plane, it’s not a holiday. I still believe in this.

I used to average one a year in earlier life, two if we were lucky, but it was usually in the summer holidays, round July and August. So, this means another four trips and then we’re even, but I have no intention of remaining even. I have every intention of going mental. If I travel twice a month, this year, it means I have been on twenty-four holidays, overseas. Can you imagine how a statement like this is received. If somebody would to have told me that as a teenager, I would think they were joking. Then, I would assume, it was for work. Well, they wouldn’t be far off, there, but it’s still a holiday. I’m not obliged. I want to go, mucho.

I ordered a second pint, it would have been appalling not to. The times I had stood at the perimeter fence during the period of my life I could not travel due to business, usually with tins of Stella, were too many. I was now in the place I had longed to be. I told Eileen, my hotelier friend from Goring, Sussex, “Eileen,’ I said, “I’m stood looking at a plane right now. I tell you, I’ll be on that with my flute of champagne in a few years.” That, I did. Although, it wasn’t champagne. I opted for the Smirnoff and Coke, instead, far more celebratory, and one gets more bang for their buck. Although, champagne will remain my favourite go to, for special occasions. Champagne is savoured.

I made it my duty to reflect at standing by that fence and sat back into contentment even further. I was now as smug as a fat cat on heat. The departure screens needed a check. I was getting lost in reminiscing. It felt absolutely amazing. The screens had gone green and the comments were “Boarding Gate 53.”

Never decide to wonder off and take pictures after final call. At final call, sup up and board

I had spoken on my radio shows about this. The usual consensus is never get to the gate unless it's gone final call. There is always a queue at the gate and you find it isn’t final call at all. Final call suggests a run through to the doors, not standing in your third line that day. I decided to wait. I was enjoying my second pint.

There was an announcement that our flight had now gone to final call. I decided to sink a quick one. I ordered my third pint and enjoyed a very brief chat with the woman behind the bar, as I was knocking it back in gulps.

I then made my way to 53. There was still a queue. We were high on life. I mean, we were pie in the sky, happy as larry, off the rails happy, loving every face, every chat, every plane, every minute. We decided to take a few pictures and then return to the gate. All I am going to say, is my final call philosophy will stand nobody in bad stead. There was a queue on that occasion and there is always a queue. You don’t want to extend any period of time on the aircraft, particularly if you’ve got hours on there, you want as many fags and beverages as possible, to make the trip as succinct and enjoyable as possible.

My final adage, once you arrive at final call, do join the queue, do not wonder off and take pictures at this point. There is no other point beyond final call other than “Gate Closed.” Then it’s phone calls and spending more money to get replacement flights, you don’t want that. It’s not nice. It’s a destroyer. Once it goes final call, as long as you’re not at Heathrow, where some gates take twenty minutes to get to on a shuttle and you can walk to your gate, you’re fine with another round. If all passengers did this, the flight crew would be concerned that none of their passengers had turned up and all of them were still at the bar. This would require a very special announcement, “can all my passengers who are doing the final call trick, please actually come to the plane, now, because I’ve got no passengers to fly, right now. Thank you.”