I was in Edinburgh earlier this week for a day of meetings with management of Carabao, the energy drinks company from Thailand. What a great bunch. The son of the founder, the CFO and the IR lady who happened to be the 22 year old niece of one of the other founders. We had a few gin and tonics on Tuesday evening and a few more malts in the Balmoral’s excellent whisky bar, and would you believe what I discovered in the wee small hours? None of them had heard of Irn-Bru. I put that to right by buying a six pack from Greggs the following morning and took the liberty of bringing it into the sandwich lunch meeting which a kind hearted client had laid on for us. It might be my imagination and I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but a slight lethargy that had begun to set in during the third meeting that morning ( jet-lag obv ), disappeared in a trice.
It was my first trip with Easyjet since the trauma I suffered at their hands on New Years Eve. Incidentally having ranted a couple of weeks ago about the trouble I was having getting a refund for the impromptu trip I had to make to Liverpool I finally appealed to a super helpful contact I have at the airline, the Corporate Account manager for Northern Europe, who has secured free Easjyet Plus membership for me over the past couple of years. One email to him and two hours later all sorted. Deep joy. In addition to which my flight north on Tuesday afternoon was on time, so faith restored I settled back into my usual seat, stretched out my legs and was delighted as the doors closed that I had two spare places beside me.
Alas at the very last minute one of my fellow passengers, wielding her EasyjetPlus membership card, exercised her right to a seat on the front row. It’s a club, an elite one obviously, so you have to accept these things with equanimity if not enthusiastically. Furthermore I could tell she was a chatty sort and I had an episode of The Crown I wanted to watch so I was very much on my guard when she leant over and said “I imagine lots of people tell you you have a doppelganger.” I groaned inwardly. She was bound to say Will Gompertz which is so boring, even a little upsetting for me. I will admit I am actually slightly flattered when others occasionally come up with Bill Nighy. But no, it was a new one. In fact I didn’t recognise the name at all. She assured me it was a compliment and that he was super cool and very successful having been involved from the inception of the TV programme Big Brother no less. She knew I wasn’t actually him she continued “because he’s way too wealthy to have to fly on Easyjet”. So that burst my bubble, Mr Smug Git in 1C.
I surreptitiously, but, having failed to precisely register his name, unsuccessfully trawled the net before the flight took off trying to identify him which gnawed away at me somewhat I must admit as we flew north. I managed to avoid conversation with my neighbour for the rest of the trip, but nosiness got the better of me as we were unbuckling our seat belt. I made some banal comment about the smoothness of the landing we had just enjoyed, before casually asking her to repeat who she thought I looked like. “Sir Peter Bazzalgette.” None the wiser however now fully armed to Google him I wasted no time – just as you might be doing I suppose. No, I didn’t see a likeness either though I was wearing a blue checked shirt. The internet is an amazing thing for inquisitive people like you and me isn’t it. Talking of which my fellow EasyjetPlus member left her card lying on the seat between us and I managed to sneak a look at her name. Found her easy peasy:
A behavioural psychologist no less. Probably could have had quite a useful natter with her come to think of it. Missed opportunity. Anyway, life goes on and I have to tell you about the return leg on Wednesday afternoon. My flight was scheduled to depart at 5.50pm. I was slightly held up at security whilst it was explained to the guy in front of me that the printed out ticket he had presented was for a flight due to depart on the 4th of March! He was over a month early. Our flight took off at 5.45pm and we landed at Stansted at 6.35pm. Crazy! I had to check there hadn’t been a time zone change. I was halfway up the M11 before the Archers came on. All time record. I love Easyjet!
PS For those of you who grappled unsuccessfully last week with the denouement of my story about the haggis, the shop assistant – and let’s put it this way, I don’t think English was her first language - handed me a pack of “Huggies” nappies.
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