Yes, we’ve been off for a short break to a mystical land WITHOUT BEER GUIDE ENTRIES, at the insistence of Mrs RM who’s bored of Sheffield, and also of Pro Properties of Hillsborough who want to get on with finishing off our downstairs en-suite garage conversion (special rates for Patronised readers of this blog).
It was the first time I’d ever been to Manchester Airport.
Easy rail journey from Sheffield via Piccadilly*, just the one stop heading south in Heald Green. “What’s in Heald Green ?” asked Mrs RM. I honestly had no idea.
I sort of knew what to expect of the airport. Mrs RM’s laptop will OF COURSE get taken aside for questioning and then forgotten about, meaning a 20 minute trip through security.
Good job we got to the airport three (3) hours before the flight. Really, who does that ? I remember being on the beach at Troon an hour before our flights home from Prestwick 20 years ago and still making boarding with time to spare.
How do you kill 2 hours once you’re airside, when you’re not even at the terminal with that Seven Bro7hers beer house ? To be fair, it takes 23 minutes to get through then duty free shops to the closed restaurants.
Our only option is the Grain Loft, which sounds like a Spoons but isn’t, and makes you remember just how good Airport Spoons are.
There’s five handpumps on the bar, all empty except a turned round Doom Bar.
And look at these prices;
The chicken burger and upgraded fries with Moretti cost more than the flight.
There is no upside. Oh, the soundtrack wasn’t bad,
the burger was edible, and my Moretti was better than Mrs RM’s Camden. What is the point of Camden ? (take that question in its wider sense if you must).
But the combination of App ordering and that joy of life you get in an Airside Spoons mean this is a dull hour.
Mrs RM has something to lift her spirits when she discovers there’s no puddings. Let that sink in.
I consider winning Simon a new mascot.
And then we take to the skies.
For just £9, they’d have let me sit next to a drunk Mrs RM on the plane. This is the best £9 I’ve ever not spent.
*Though I nearly missed the train after a mad dash to find a post box in which to deposit Mrs RM’s Mother’s Day card I’d wrote on the tram.