Blowin' In The Wind Part 5

So, the essential problem was that we only actually had just over an hour in Stansted on the way back and the check-in desks close 45 minutes before the plane takes-off. So on landing we would have some 20-25 minutes to get from our plane to the next one. We did try and mitigate this in all sorts of ways including checking in over the Internet. Apparently, though Ryanair impose a limit of 8 on anyone wanting to check in that way. Quite why no-one could figure, but I'm sure Ryanair have their reasons.

The short time in Stansted was one of the reasons we were only carrying hand luggage, too. As at least two of the party had to check their baggage last time this was getting to be all too moot a point.

The check-in desk people in Derry were very helpful and it turned out we could get priority tickets so we could sit at the front of the plane for an extra two quid. Sorted!

I checked in and got myself a sausage roll (another thing you can't get anywhere other than the UK and Ireland) and carried on reading in the café. Eamon came over with good news. The flight was leaving early. I looked out the window. The gusts of wind were quite dramatic across the long grass and every so often the Bird Control Vehicle drove out to scare the birds. At some point I looked up from my reading material to see a Ryanair plane bank very steeply from the runway and fly off.

"You ought to have seen that" said one of the group. "The plane was coming in like this", he held out a splayed hand and twisted it violently back and forth, "then about a hundred yards from landing the pilot bottled it and flew off. He's probably going to land somewhere else."

He was wrong about the last part. Eventually the plane did land at Derry, and we were let on first, not that it mattered much anymore. The pilot let us know that we were going to sit where we were until the wind had dropped a good bit. This took sometime. Disconcertingly the gusts of wind on the stood plane felt a lot like bad turbulance. The take-off was quick. The pilot must have just hit full-throttle and pulled the plane off the ground the moment that he could. It should probably be noted that for two of our group it was the first time they'd flown anywhere. They ought to be re-assured it'll probably not be that rough again.

By the time the plane in Derry took off our connecting plane had already left Stansted. The next plane to Salzburg was at 6:30. Not too bad just a whole night in the airport until we can check in at 4:30 and get a breakfast in the Wetherspoons. Oh yeah, and another 70 Euros for the flight. Oh and it was a Sunday so the O'Neills decided that it could close at 10:30. So that was at least 6 hours with very little to do except experience first hand how cold and uncomfortable Stansted floor tiles are when you are trying to sleep. And they are cold. And uncomfortable. Tiredness though is it's own blanket and I got a few minutes and the odd hour here and there, at least. One of our number, bored and restless, decided that he would whistle to pass the time. I'm not a morning person really, and for some reason whistling goes through me, so someone whistling first thing in the morning wasn't putting me in a particularly pleasant mood. The whistler was told as much. I think he started talking instead. Still, that was better than whistling.

4:30 came around and that was pretty much it. We all sat silently in different groups waiting for the gate number to shown. One bloke used the time to get his last couple of pints of cider in, I had a breakfast bloomer and a coke. The flight and drive home were pretty uneventful.

All the food and Guiness was great, I'd met a lot of nice, friendly people, and the group as a whole remained surprisingly cheerful. So the whole thing wasn't a total bust, but I couldn't help feeling we'd spent the whole weekend being fucked by the weather.