Well, so much for our weekend in Scunthorpe.
Yeah, they checked us in at Dublin Airport no problem, so we headed off to the bar for a quick drink, feeling really good about this hassle-free experience. Half an hour later, we’re in past security, gawping at a monitor that says cancelled.
Why? Very simple: fog at Dublin Airport.
Now, I’m not an experienced pilot, and neither are the Wrinklies. I know nothing about airports, or airlines, or how a jet takes off. Same goes for the other two. But one thing we were all agreed on: we’re not fucking blind. Despite the fog in the morning, we were now looking out at a beautiful, crisp, sunny Spring day. No fog.
So what do you reckon this is about? I don’t know, and I wouldn’t like to cast aspersions on Michael O’Leary, so therefore I’m not suggesting that it has anything to do with the reports earlier in the week. You know the ones I mean, where Ryanair were criticised for landing in the fog at British airports.
It couldn’t possibly be that O’Leary said, Fuck ’em then. We’ll cancel a few flights on beautiful sunny days, just to make fools out of them.
Of course it couldn’t. After all, that would mean that Ryanair couldn’t give a shit about their customers. And for the same reason, it couldn’t be because they lost some lucrative flights earlier in the day due to fog, and to make money they had to cancel the flights of bums like us.
Ryanair. The no-care airline.
Of course, the other effect it had on us was that we had to go back to the bar. To regroup and gather our wits. And have six more pints. It’s the first time I ever went to an airport to get drunk.