June 10, 2007

Travelodge LAX

I’ve always been intrigued by the notion of staying in an airport hotel. This life-long fascination (which has its origins in the same period of my childhood when the idea of going to a Little Chef seemed thrilling) was satisfied by a night at the remarkably pleasant LAX Travelodge. Heck, you could almost spend a few days there, with its surprisingly peaceful courtyard where a good-sized pool was surrounded by myriad international flora species, all helpfully labelled.

Sir Sean

Going through LAX security, we were queuing alongside Sir Thomas Sean Connery, who suffered exactly the same indignities as us mere mortals. Although I don’t think he was dubbed a “male quad S” and ordered into a short perspex corridor, then on into a little side area where his shoes were swabbed, the swams then tested for god knows what on a special paranoia device.

I love flying

Of course I bloody don’t. Honestly, to think international aviation was once steeped in romance.

For Fran, it’s the anxiety, that whole “we could drop out of the sky at any moment” thing. For me it’s just the profound discomfort of being shoehorned into a space that would be meagre for even an anorexic midget, then sustained by the vague home of something with sufficient flavour to distract being plonked in front of you intermittently. Or not if you’re on the piss-poor American Airlines. It was the first flight where you were expected to pay extra for a meal and pay extra for headphones to plug into a broken socket to watch aged sitcoms and a lame movie. You even had to plead more than usual just for some water, a situation made even more wretched by the new rules that prevent you from bringing your own water onboard. Gah.

Still, AA’s piece de resistance was the semi-articulate nature of the captain’s tannoy annoucements. Even while we were on course, he seemed barely amount to remember our destination, but when we hit “weather” over Toronto his stumbling, bumbling stop-start utterances about running out of fuel and having to turn back to Detroit weren’t reassuring. Surely, given the nerve-wracking, or at least discomforting, nature of flying (especially post 9/11), one key area of the captain’s role is reassurance. This guy really needed to go back to captain school and learn how to make annoucements.


Anyway, we made it to Toronto, eventually. Had a pleasant day wandering around, and sitting by the lake and eating the biggest portions of Japanese food I’ve ever encountered.


2 Responses to “Onwards”

  1. Calm down dear. Have a Gin and Tonic when you fly, it’s the only way.

    Another entertaining post Mr D, but as you near the end of your ‘sojourn’ in various locations across the globe I want to pick you up on something.

    It’s the use of the word ‘myriad’

    It drives me insane.

    And unless you’re writing poetry or poetic prose, which of course it is your write to think that it is, it ain’t bleedin’ correct:

    Or at the very least, it’s unnecessary and sticks in my throat (in my head) as I read.

    Ahem. Said it now. I wouldn’t normally, but you’ve said it a lot over the last 9 months. At least I’ve been reading hey?!


    (I can hear you spitting feathers at this post from here. Stop it, I’m only having a laugh xx)

  2. Lol, easy tiger. Have a G&T.

    From that link you’ve given me, I can’t see that my usage is technically wrong. Especially not in the context of an unmediated rant.

    Personally I don’t like the “a myriad of” usage.

    Still, point taken about overuse. Next time I find myself typing it, I’ll reach for my online thesaurus. There must be myriad alternatives… d’oh… sorry, innumerable alternatives, oodles of them, heaps of them, loads, stacks, multitudinous alternatives etc etc etc.

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