The Amsterdam Experience
Ah yes. Amsterdam...
So the second of the three reunion legs with Ross and Richo was planned to take place in Amsterdam. They had caught the train from France and I would fly over for 3 nights just before term started for a final hurrah, as it were.
I must set the scene.
My bus lefft Oxford for Gatwick airport at 0200 hours, which was hellish but manageable.
Earlier in that evening I had been indulging in that vice which has affected scholars of this university for 900 years... cards. There was a poker tournamnet held in one of the local pool halls.... 10 pound entry, top 9 were awarded prizes, starting from £36 for 9th place, up to £650 for first place, with 63 entries.
I played with my typical cocktail of analytic scrutiny and reckless mavericity to manage to make the top 20, the top 13 in fact, when my flush was despatched by a higher, flukier, longer odds flush, and I finished in lucky 13th spot, bitter and twisted over the whole experience, but knownin that a trip to the continent in the next few ours will make it all right.
So I came back to college, packed my bags at around 1 and left for the bus. I arrive at Gatwick at 0405 hours, and get into the flight line at about 4:30.
"Where are you flying today sir?"
"Amsterdam."
"Right, may I see your passport sir?"
"...Oh Dear..."
I hop on the 0500 bus back to Oxford (and manage to draw the same driver, much to his amusement, and, despite being awake for so long, mine) to return to my room at around 8am. There, in my sock drawer, underneath the handkerchiefs is the passport... mocking me...
I ring up British Airways, the customer friendly airline and tell them 'A funny story': the upshot of the call is that I can fly at 6pm that evening and just pay an extra £10.
Capital... 8:20am.... the yawning begins. Perhaps I will take a nap...
I awake at 3:40... calculate that a 2 hour bus trip and the associated extra time in getting places and clearing customs means that trouble is brewing... I ring up BA again and tell them 'A very funny story'... they laugh, I laugh, I cry, the cycle goes on. I declined another offer of an extension, thinking it better to burn my bridges and pull up stumps in a blaze of metaphor cocktails.
So in toto the flight of £26 + two bus trips (£22 each) + accommodation (£14 was not able to be refunded) = £84, which is very reasonable to pay for not going to Amsterdam. In fact it is the cheapest I have paid not to go.
Naturally Ross and Richo could see the funny side and were a little disappointed that I couldn't make it down, so I took it upon myself to give them a convivial feast of the senses on the third and final leg of our rendezvous... the scholarly town of Oxford...
So the second of the three reunion legs with Ross and Richo was planned to take place in Amsterdam. They had caught the train from France and I would fly over for 3 nights just before term started for a final hurrah, as it were.
I must set the scene.
My bus lefft Oxford for Gatwick airport at 0200 hours, which was hellish but manageable.
Earlier in that evening I had been indulging in that vice which has affected scholars of this university for 900 years... cards. There was a poker tournamnet held in one of the local pool halls.... 10 pound entry, top 9 were awarded prizes, starting from £36 for 9th place, up to £650 for first place, with 63 entries.
I played with my typical cocktail of analytic scrutiny and reckless mavericity to manage to make the top 20, the top 13 in fact, when my flush was despatched by a higher, flukier, longer odds flush, and I finished in lucky 13th spot, bitter and twisted over the whole experience, but knownin that a trip to the continent in the next few ours will make it all right.
So I came back to college, packed my bags at around 1 and left for the bus. I arrive at Gatwick at 0405 hours, and get into the flight line at about 4:30.
"Where are you flying today sir?"
"Amsterdam."
"Right, may I see your passport sir?"
"...Oh Dear..."
I hop on the 0500 bus back to Oxford (and manage to draw the same driver, much to his amusement, and, despite being awake for so long, mine) to return to my room at around 8am. There, in my sock drawer, underneath the handkerchiefs is the passport... mocking me...
I ring up British Airways, the customer friendly airline and tell them 'A funny story': the upshot of the call is that I can fly at 6pm that evening and just pay an extra £10.
Capital... 8:20am.... the yawning begins. Perhaps I will take a nap...
I awake at 3:40... calculate that a 2 hour bus trip and the associated extra time in getting places and clearing customs means that trouble is brewing... I ring up BA again and tell them 'A very funny story'... they laugh, I laugh, I cry, the cycle goes on. I declined another offer of an extension, thinking it better to burn my bridges and pull up stumps in a blaze of metaphor cocktails.
So in toto the flight of £26 + two bus trips (£22 each) + accommodation (£14 was not able to be refunded) = £84, which is very reasonable to pay for not going to Amsterdam. In fact it is the cheapest I have paid not to go.
Naturally Ross and Richo could see the funny side and were a little disappointed that I couldn't make it down, so I took it upon myself to give them a convivial feast of the senses on the third and final leg of our rendezvous... the scholarly town of Oxford...
posted by Tim Trudgian | 9:38 pm
3 Comments:
Shit 84 pounds, (yes the heathen keyboards over here do not have the pound sign) how cheap is that not to go to Amsterdam. I have already e-mailed Flight Centre and the captain therein to try and to get them to match that price and guess what...they were more than accommodating when it came to the price for me not to fly there. Thanks to you and the exchange rate I am looking forward to the 8th of February and not flying out. The bus trip almost costs as much as the flights, what a bastard!
Knowlesy
geez, and people reckon I have blonde moments...
Hi Tim - love reading about your 'human moments' - caught up with your Mum and Dad yesterday at the social event of the year 'the sod turning ceremony' at which your Dad said a prayer, blessing and dedicating something (the sod I think it was)- however there was some dispute as to whether it was in fact a 'sod' that was turned - so after consulting several dictionaries from several countries, dating from 1940's to 1990's (yes I am a bit out of date) I can confirm that it was not in fact a sod that was turned - it appears (and all dictionaries agree on this) that sods contain some sort of grass, roots, or other vegetative matter however all are lenient as to the shape - square, rectangular or oblong all fit the sod definition.
Now that you have read this and have absolutlely no idea what I am going on about, you will have to contact your Mum and Dad who were both in fine form yesterday and a good time was had by all.
Keep blogging
Mrs Ogre
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