Tenerife: Epilogue

Saturday

I'm sitting on a bench outside Tenerife South airport wearing a black suit and my Wayfarers, smoking my last Coronas.  I look fucking incredible.  Some sunburnt jellybean of a man obviously doesn't get it because he nudges his drunk wife (it's 10am) and says 'fakin' 'ell, look at the state of that.'  I don't bother saying replying.  I flick my cigarette on the floor, pick up my bag and walk into the airport. 

The don't really bother too much with checking my bags.  The woman at the x-ray machine mutters something in Spanish to me, I shrug and walk off.  I figure if it's anything important, they'll chase me or something.  It's 17 degrees C in London and it's raining.  This makes me happy as I sit there sweating in my black suit.  I eat a warm tuna baguette from Upper Crust.  The departure lounge is full of kids, running around and being dicks.  There should be separate airports for those with children and those without, I decide.  This will be one of the first things I'll implement when I'm king (along with banning dogs and dreadlocks). 

I dig out this Nintendo DS I liberated from an ex-girlfriend after a traumatic break-up and play a bit of Mario Kart, making sure that my swearing is in earshot of the children and their parents.  Some guy from the Spanish board of travel asks me if I'd like to fill in a questionnaire.  The fucking thing is four pages long and I don't even get a free pen. Filled it out nonetheless…

I thought God must've been on my side when the couple with the baby who were sat behind me on the plane moved to the premium seats at the front of plane.  However, a guy in front of me started talking to the couple he was sat with.  At one point during the four hour monologue about his boring fucking life, he looked out of the window and said 'We're very high up.' 

Yeah, we're in a plane, genius, that's what they tend to do (unless you're at an air show in Nevada possibly…).

After a rather painful four hour flight back, jammed in with Stathams and their wives, I race through passport control and onto the Gatwick Express.  Some kid is having an argument with the ticket inspector.  I'm rested and calm as I look out of the window and onto the zone four estates the train is passing through, quite content in the knowledge that I'll probably never have to visit any of these places in my life.  Still, I've just come back from Tenerife, so let's not all high and mighty about the quality of destinations I visit...One last listen to Life During Wartime, one last thought of Sarah.  Dr Chris, who I'm due to see on Wednesday, will be pleased.  Christ, it'll be nice to have a conversation again.  It'll be nice to sit around with my friends and watch X-Factor and talk about shit. 

I get off the train to see the kid being chased down the platform by the ticket inspector.  The inspector is shouting 'CUNT' at the kid.  The kid turns around and gives the ticket inspector the finger before he disappears into the melee of the underground.

Welcome back to London.