Trigger Happy

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – everything is better with bubblegum. With the possible exception of soup… Aside from that, everything is better with bubblegum. Apart from oral sex… Okay, so everything is better with bubblegum aside from oral sex and soup. Which is a shame, seeing as I started off with such a neat little poster-boy slogan…

Anyway, Monday morning, rising early and hitting my favourite clogged artery (the M25, blog-fans) I scanned surly skies draped with nimbostratus and - to slightly mis-paraphrase C-3P0 - remembered how much I hate space travel.

Now, I can’t profess to having a full blown fear of flying, it’s just I’d rather not taunt the laws of physics thankyewveddymuch. I have a number of extenuating reasons for this, not least being my pledge to keep my carbon footprint to that of a baby bootie. In this I’m in some small way ‘offsetting’ the moon boot sized swathe my ex-wives cut across Mother Earth. Just kidding.

But in all honesty, air travel does make me a trifle more uneasy the older I get. And abstinence doesn’t particularly bother me. Because I’m incredibly fortunate in the pleasures that jet-setting has afforded me in the past; to have watched the sun set over the Grand Canyon, to have cycled alongside deer gambolling through Yosemite, to have relaxed on balmy streets and drank with Parisians into the small hours, to have scudded across the UK above a carpet or pyrotechnics on bonfire night and helicoptered through the clawing superbright superstructures of Las Vegas.

Okay so there’s a big old world out there still to explore, but one: I’d like to trek across it by sea and rail a la Mr Palin should I ever have the travellers cheques to do so - and deux: there’s still plenty of wonders to behold on my own fair shores. I mean, who needs the pyramids when you can revel in the beauty of torched cars reflected in the eyes of a Hen Party in Gateshead? Seriously…

Anyway, as is my wont, I digress…

Back to my C-3P0 moment, yada yada yada… So as I started to mewl over taking to the skies once more, I decided to follow my own advice and see the positive in the situation. I was after all on an expenses paid trip to Dublin – somewhere I have been meaning to go for years – and the flight was – let’s face it - less than an hour. Grow some, man…

And so, I connected to a time when I knew no fear, where bad things only ever happened on TV and the world was full of limitless possibility. I popped in some strawberry bubblegum and shook hands with my inner 6 year old (which is possibly a little bit formal, but you can never be too careful these days). Instantly I was the wide eyed child inside the gates of Wonka’s factory. Instantly I had the swell of adventure in my belly. Instantly I had sticky goo pasted to my face (hey, don’t sully my tale of innocence!).

Now, whilst I don’t want to mislead you into thinking bubblegum has magical powers, within minutes the cloud gave way to sunshine and calm ruled the day. I kid ye not. And so with 6 year old me by my side, I embarked upon adventure.

And although once strapped into the jet-propelled casket of circulated stink the thing rattled over the asphalt for take off with all the serene grace of the Millenium Falcon bouncing straight into a meteor shower, it was merely the winged beast protesting. Just wait, man… It rumbled (I like to think as aircraft as frustrated hippies for some reason) Just wait, man… This isn’t my scene. Let me fly, man. Then I’ll show you what I was made for…

And just like that, the beast shook off its terra-firma shackles to show its true poise and refinement as it tickled the clouds with seemingly effortless elegance. Before I could even contemplate the over-priced services trolley, the aircraft arced delicately and surely towards Craggy Island and my final destination. And with Dublin’s proximity to the coast it felt like the metal monster was idly trailing its wingtips across the calm waters, enjoying its last few moments of truly being, before thumping along the harsh Earth once more.

Thanks, man. It was a wild ride, man.

Finally free of suffocating airport roadworks in my shiny hire car and it was my turn to take off; at the very same moment an Aer Lingus flight was landing on the runway parallel to the road. A multi-vehicular game of tag – my 6 year old self whooped with delight, a harking back to more innocent times when the family would park up on the verges at Stansted Airport in days where it was an infrequently patronised provincial outpost. Prior to the trappings of anti-social multi-media devices, Dad would drive the family out on an idle Sunday and we’d be thrilled by the occasional aircraft dipping in or charging angrily into the sky.

Sadly, in this age of ‘terror’ and Stansted’s absorption into ‘London’, you can no longer do so without entering the bustle of the airport proper. However funnily enough, given Ireland's usurped position as the world leader in terrorism, there outside Dublin airport in plain view of the runways – is a large observation car park, chocca of plane nerds and excited families, buzzing with the same thrills as I enjoyed as a wee kid.

Now some would say coincidence or a twee world view had its part to play, but I like to think I’ve found my 'trigger'. Just as certain fragrances, music, or television shows can transport you back to more innocent times, my bubblegum had served as plutonium to my DeLorean and skipped me back to a time where the world truly was my playground. It was my much needed swift reality kick to the head.

And it comes in really useful.

Because yesterday, standing at the busy airport terminal in my socks, my trousers drooping over my hips with the sum total of my toiletries clutched in an inadequate sandwich bag whilst my hand luggage was laid out in an undignified heap, my ire began to rise.

The offending article arising suspicion was the snow globe souvenir I’d purchased my youngest. She’s collected these ever since I started her off with a trinket from Amsterdam, so it was the perfect gift. Of course I’d neglected the fact that its ‘liquid content’ may be construed as explosive fuel and thus the item was duly paraded around Security. I tried to reason that there would be identical items in the souvenir shops directly behind me, so wasn’t this bureaucracy for the sake of it, but one by one the officious drones consulted stuck to the unwavering letter of Airport Authority.

Seeing my thoughtful gift slipping away, I tried applying further logic, in that drained of all liquid and thus satisfying ‘the rules’, the heavy glass globe would in fact make a far more effective weapon.

However, explaining with cold logic how I could use the present for my eight year old to pulverize someone’s skull didn’t seem to exactly strike me from the ‘possible terrorist’ register. If anything it only made them more resolute.

And suddenly I found myself very short tempered and embarked upon a railing against bloody-minded (probably not the best term, given my serial killer tainted reasoning) jobsworthiness and I became that disgruntled traveller they love to feature on all low budget airline documentary shows.

Which was unfair. The restrictions in place – as unyielding and unfathomable as they are - are there for the safety of us all. Maybe I should have been flattered that I’d been considered as the most ingenious and creatively adept (with his own glass-blowing paraphernalia to boot) terrorist ever to shake the Earth. And the lady who’d interrogated my luggage had actually been very sweet, thoughtful and compassionate in her trying to source a solution for me.

But momentarily I lost sight of this. And it’s all too easy to count the fingers of blame that put me there:

It was the 4 hour wait without any realistic or cost effective solution to get me home before midnight.

It was the interminable wait, watching wind rattled trees touch their toes (roots, I guess) in a complaisance I could never hope to replicate, stressing myself out over how gnarly this flight was going to be.

It was seeing a thoughtful gift for my youngest be cast aside as (potentially lethal) trash.

Added to this, stood on my stocking feet with my accoutrements (and my trousers) piled around me, I considered this damn well a Human Rights violation.

Which upon reflection was incredibly ignorant of me. It was a momentary inconvenience. It didn’t even begin to flirt with Human Rights. I’ve never been incarcerated for protracted periods with not even a trumped up charge. I’ve not suffered the ignominies of racial prejudice, the terrifying existence of day to day survival in the refugee camps of Darfur, or the arbitrary mortar attacks of the Gaza strip. Really; get over myself…

And then I looked down at the 6 year old me regarding before him this rude and unreasonable man - and suddenly the bubble burst.

I realised that I was being an utter and incontrovertible arse.

And I stopped mid-bluster. And shame faced, I said to the lady trying so hard against the constraints of her peers to help me; “I’m very sorry… I know it’s not your fault.”

Instead of shrugging her shoulders to signify my required departure as she’d have been absolutely entitled, the lady smiled reassuringly, apologised for the disappointment and took her time in explaining exactly where I may find a gift of similar theme, but more acceptable in proportion. And okay, it was a third of the gift for twice the price, but it had more emotional resonance, because this item has been bought out of the triumph of human kindness.

I’m thinking of mocking up some kind of token trophy in award to anyone so imbuing the spirit of Why So Serious? as this lovely lady did. Because in a world where service seems to cost extra and the customer/fellow human is deemed nothing but a hindrance, it takes a few heroes like this wonderful, warm and giving lady, to spread some positivity. For in all its contagion, it can be the most powerful weapon of all.

And to my bubble blowing 6 year old conscience, I also give thanks. I’m sorry I let you down.

So here’s my recommendation: Find your trigger.

Although clearly don’t speak in such terms when passing through airport security…

Stay positive.

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