In which there is rage against the capitalist machine.

Beginning a holiday should be a calm and happy time. I like travelling even though I suffer my fair share of delayed flights and lost luggage and I certainly like arriving at my destinations. I was therefore greatly aggravated when I arrived at the airport to begin the journey to France to discover that Tiny Bomber, who had kindly provided the transport to said airport would be charge £1 for the privilege of dropping us off at the designated drop off spot – not even at the door as that is no longer an option following the bombing attempt at Glasgow a few years ago. It took less than two minutes to unload our cases and we were not provided with any comforting services, no cheery greeting or baggage carrying porter while occupying the drop off spot. And yet a pound was demanded for our temerity to occupy a space for a minuscule period of time.  

The words ‘Bandits!’ and ‘Scoundrels’ were uttered loudly, initially in the direction of the member of staff patrolling the exit barriers and thence towards anyone in a hi-vis jacket who looked like they may possibly be airport staff. My rage increased exponentially when I discovered there are no front of house management services available to placate disgruntled  travellers – although this traveller was not about to be placated with soothing words or calming explanations.

Bandits! What possible explanation can they have for charging a pound – one hundred solid pennies – for driving onto a piece of tarmac for the shortest period of time with no added services? It is outrageous and an example of rampant capitalist greed. My rage was exacerbated, I have to say by the Wing Commander’s seemingly placid acceptance of the outrage my anger towards which didn’t abate until we reached the final leg of our travels. On entering the Arac valley in the Ariege there was a bus shelter which some kindly revolutionaries, perhaps anticipating my mood, had spray painted ‘Kill Capitalists’. A less fervent member of the revolutionary fraternity had more generously painted over the last two letters to make the epithet read ‘Kill Capitalisme’. I was no longer alone in my rage and so was calmed enough by the solidarity to enjoy the beginning of my holiday.

P. S. My rage, however, is being carefully nurtured and a suitably incendiary letter will be winging its way to the hidden management of Aberdeen Airport on my return.