Pink and White Delight!
Many Stewardesses around the world like to earn a little extra on the side. If you are working a full time roster, your days off become very precious. If on the other hand, you’ve got a standby block coming up, those days can seem a little dull, and if they don’t need you then your pay is down, because you haven’t flown. A couple of years a go, we decided that we would pad out our wages, and have a chuckle, by joining a promotions company in our city. Julie joined first and because she is good looking, she was asked to do some really nice stuff. With her background being in modeling, she was ideal for events like the opening of posh shops, corporate things, perfume demonstrations, sales pushes for expensive alcohol, stuff like that. She did a party for a mega famous leather goods manufacturer ( we’ve got loads of fake stuff by them) and she was really well paid! Once she did a promotion for the new high speed train service, a welcome event at the station for the press. Another time she had to go in a coach with other girls to a race track, and have photos taken round a car which would be won in a prize draw. You get the type of thing.
Well, I was so impressed, I put my name down too! Our very first job together was hilarious, probably one of the most insanely funny tales of our friendship. We had a call late one afternoon from the company, asking us to be Bunny Girls the next day, and as it was short notice, offering us £75 quid each to do it. We would be dressed up as Bunny Girls for two hours, offer a snack product round at a launch, mingle, give out vouchers, photos taken, easy stuff! We asked about the outfits, and the guy on the phone said they were pink Bunny Girl costumes with fluffy white tails. Jue asked if they had ears and would fit us and he said they would. We rang round quick, got appointments to have our hair blow dried, and both rushed down to Tanfastic for spray-ons before they closed at six. We spent the evening painting our nails baby pink, and deciding to put the money we would earn towards a hol. Jue suddenly wondered if we should get fishnets to go with the costumes, because that’s traditional at the Play Boy mansion. The next morning she dashed down to a dance suppliers near us and came back with the sort with seams down the back of the leg. We were really giggly, neither of us had ever dressed up as Play Boy Bunnies before, and before we set off to the hair salon, we had a couple of glasses of wine to start the party. £75 quid for fornicate around and flirting for two hours looking gorgeous! Top Result!
We both wore simple dresses, because Julie reckoned that tight clothing can leave marks on the skin for hours, and if the costumes were skimpy it would show. We applied false eyelashes. We did our best make-up. We both also wore high heel black suede shoes to match our fishnets, and I just hoped the sexy outfit wouldn’t show my arse too much. When we got to the event at the Trafford Centre, we were shown to a changing room behind the stage in the huge food court there, called The Orient. We wondered if we would be going on the stage, or have to parade round the small swimming pool, just like we’d seen models do on the cat walk shows we’d often seen while tucking in to our grub on a shopping day. We were nervous! There were thousands of people milling around or dining. But we were all abuzz and giddy, it was going to be great! There was no sign of our Bunny Girl outfits in the changing area though, and a lady came in and said they were being brought from the van, and it meant we only had fifteen minutes before we were due out in front of everyone. We dolled up our make-up, perfected our hair and stripped down ready to squeeze them on. I was excited, baby pink satin with fluffy tails! We were going to look fab!
There was a commotion at the curtain, and as we stood up straight to receive our costumes, the fabric bulged inwards, and the lady’s face appeared round, and said “One at a time Girls, there isn’t room for two of you to dress in there.” With that and a struggle, she bundled an enormous pink and white fur fabric rabbit costume in to us, and a massive, monstrous cartoon rabbit’s head accompanying it, with a mesh grill under the chin for us to see out of. Neither of us spoke. After five seconds of us staring at her, Jue said “ Ermmm, we were told we would be Bunny Girls today.” She just looked at us oddly and said “This is a bunny, and you’d better hurry up, you’re out in five minutes!”
Well, I started to laugh Readers. I laughed, and laughed and laughed as Julie attempted to get in to it. The feet were huge, and it had hoops inside so the belly really stuck out. It was the colour of candyfloss, had a white furry chest and massive paws, and the tail on the back was about a foot across. It also smelt really moth bally. I was creased up, and when she put the head on, I pissed even more. It was about eight foot tall with the ears. It had a manic grin, two massive buckteeth, and through the mesh, I could just make out her eyes, and her voice was really muffled. I was nearly wetting myself, and I could hear her through the grill, laughing and saying “fornicate hell Lizzy! It stinks like a litter tray in here!” Well, I couldn’t wait to get mine on, and she had to step out of the cubicle to give me room. She said “Jesus, Liz, we shoulda worn trainers! I can’t keep my shoes on inside the feet!” Readers, it was hilarious! Once mine was on, I couldn’t see or hear a bloody thing! I just had a tiny bit of vision, it did stink, and the head was really heavy. As I shuffled through the curtain, I had to kick my feet up, because when I tried to look down to see where I was stepping with my three foot long feet, the head fell forward and I couldn’t see at all.
We were guided out, and they lifted our massive pink paws and put trays on them with loads of biscuits on for people to try. The biscuits were those marshmallow pink and white things sprinkled with coconut and we were to walk round the shopping center giving them out with vouchers for 50p off. Off we set, me cracked up inside the costume, struggling to hang on to my tray and we’d only gone ten paces before Jue fell over and the mallows went everywhere. Readers, I was inside that costume, in a hysterical world of my own, watching Jue being pulled up on to her giant feet again, and been spoken to sternly by the promoters. I was absolutely pissing myself, and best of all, I knew Jue was inside hers, doing exactly the same thing.
Well, it was a total side-splitting disaster. It took us ages to go about fifty paces, little kids were coming up to us all big eyed and in awe, and a couple of times we made babies cry, as their parents cooed, “Look at the bunny!” As we tried to lean down to give toddlers samples, the biscuits would slide off the tray, and I could hear Jue shout “Ooooo, me biscuits!!!” as they fell off and she trampled them with her giant feet. There was marshmallow stuck to her fur feet and all over the marble floor tiles. I could do nothing for laughing, my massive head nodded backwards and forwards as my shoulders shook, and the tears rolled down my cheeks. Tears that I couldn’t wipe away and which made my vision worse. People were taking pictures with mobile phones, and some of those pictures may now be famous on websites somewhere, as Jue was snapped falling over again by a Millies Cookies barrow. It was impossible Readers, to walk in stiletto heels inside the feet, and after about twenty minutes, in which time we’d only gone a hundred yards, the heat became unbearable, I felt like I could faint. We were trying to converse with each other, still laughing but also getting stressed at being so hot. I could hear Julie all muffled shouting “What???? Yeah, dead HOT!!!!” and the promoter came over with replenished trays and said “Keep going Girls, ten more minutes and you can stop for a breather.” He pushed the trays on to our paws, turned us by the shoulders and with a little shove, sent us on our way. We both staggered onwards towards the up escalator, but at the bottom I realised we couldn’t possibly get on it, even if we stood sideways our feet were to big for the treads. We tried to back peddle, and this time it was me that lost my balance and nearly went down. We made a bottle neck as we tried to turn, bellies bumping, and loads of people in the crowd were hooting with laughter. My head had fallen forward totally obscuring my vision, and I felt plundering hands on my tray. A gang of chavs in sports wear pinched all our biscuits, and ran off delighted, and laughing that nasty teenage laugh as they belted up the metal steps. All through it, I could hear Jue calling “Liz! Lizzy!!! The biscuits!!!!! Quick!!!”
We shuffled our way back to the stand and said we were finished. We weren’t laughing by that stage, that is for sure. Sweat was running down our backs, my fishnets felt soaking, and my hair, that I’d paid £18 quid to have blow dried at Tony and Guy not two hours previous, was stuck in a dripping mess to my head. Jue pulled her head off, and I pissed again at the state of her. She was balloon red with panda eyes, her hair was in strings and she had a false eyelash stuck to her cheek. I was exactly the same except for the eye lash, but ohhhh, the coolness of the air was a wonderful relief. Inside, the necks of our costumes were covered in fake tan, and as the promoters pushed us back to the dressing area, they were none too happy. We weren’t bothered, it had been hilarious but we’d had enough, no way could someone do two hours of that. They were going to refuse to pay us, but in the end they gave us twenty quid each, which, when you consider the laugh we’d had, wasn’t too bad a deal. We left that shopping center looking horrific, me with my hair all mad and bendy, but still we giggled all the way home. Over the following days, we recounted the experience to each other many times, and it still made us roar with laughter.
Now, whenever we go to the match, the sight of the Mascot just tickles us. At Disney, we sympathized with Mickey Mouse, and told him of our fun, and he said that they could only wear the suit for 15 minutes because of the heat. It was there that we saw two of the Seven Dwarves break up a fight between some Puerto Rican lads, and that was hilarious too. We think it was Grumpy and Dopey. We were also offered the chance to promote fresh produce at a supermarket, me as a banana and Jue as a tomato, but after the bunnies how could we? That was once in a lifetime, and we just wish we had a video to re-live it.
Saturday 9 June 2007
Brazil Nuts!
Brazil Nuts:
In all this excitement, we forgot to tell you something really funny that happened last trip we did together. Something that in our widest imaginings we couldn’t have pulled out of the hat! In fact two top things, something cracking happened on the night stop, and also our very own Julie here has fallen in love! She doesn’t want me to tell you about it yet cos it’s early days, but me and Hero are chuffed to bits! And it all happened in Sau Paulo, which is a fantastic place to go, full of music and life and fashion. Hero was with me because he was working doing some of his promotions, so he came out on our flight (which I love, because he’s gorgeous and I am so proud of him, he’s a delight to display. Also, people he meets later tell me how much he loves me, and which female could deny the unending thrill of being told flattering information like that?) We always make sure that Julie doesn’t feel gooseberry when with us, and she’s agreeing here that she never feels left out. Hero is a real gentleman and thinks the world of her, and because he’s funny she enjoys the laugh the three of us have. But she was slightly pining for her own man. Don’t get me wrong, she gets more attention than 25 of me, but no one seems to really blow her frock up. At work she is forever being given business cards from male passengers, some really important and influential men, and she always receives them graciously but never calls. She never chucks them out though, they are the perfect texture and thickness for making roaches for our joints. We’ve smoked the Managing Directors and COE’s of some top companies.
Yeah Jue, I am going to tell them about that first, then in the next book we’ll do your exciting tale. You’re right Love, they won’t believe it happened either! Ok, on the crew of 17 that we took with us to Sao Paulo was an unusual lady. We’d not met her before but when she greeted us in the briefing room, it was like we’d been separated at birth, so chummy was her introduction and her hug. To be honest, it was a little disconcerting; she was not a respecter of personal body space and had to constantly touch our shoulders or arms as she spoke to us. And she’s the kind of person who speaks directly into your face, inches too close for comfort, and grins and nods as you answer her slightly intrusive questions. We’ll call her Denise. Now, on the way over to Brazil, Hero flew upstairs in Club Class, but we had to work down the back in Cattle. When I introduced Denise to my man as I popped to the upper deck to peck his cheek, she was extremely friendly with him, right in close and really touchy. He did recoil just a bit, and gritted his teeth, as she was just too invasive. I smirked at him over her pally shoulder, and he glanced down at her legs and lifted his eyebrows to indicate to me we’d have something to talk about later.
Right, I’m going to have to be careful here as I describe Denise’s appearance, so we don’t sound like a pair of total bitches. Whatever way we put it, it is going to sound cruel, but here goes. Denise was a lady of 42, divorced, maybe a little lonely, but definitely quite highly sexed. She asked Hero about our sex life in between serving him drinks, can you believe it? She asked if it was just me who got the goods, or was Julie in the bedroom picture too? Hero was astonished at the intensity of the question, and tried to make a joke as she stroked his forearm and looked right in to his eyes. He laughed and said no, but he’d have a long, hard think about that one! She made a low moaning sound in her throat, and said she could “feel the juices flowing” which nearly made Hero gag, and actually made him afraid of her. We were shocked when he told us. It was really distasteful. Fancy talking about fanny batter to someone else’s fella.
She was a difficult shape to dress, shall we say. She was a pretty faced blonde, with a neat size ten top half and a good bosom, but from the midriff down, a very surprising change in body form occurred. Top half firm and slender, no doubt about it, but the rest of her was pushing a good size eighteen, with thighs like prime hams. Hero could not take his eyes off them. She had huge porky knees like body builder’s shoulders, and the thickest ankles and chubbiest feet to ever pop over the top of a pair of cabin shoes. It looked like she was wearing inflatable tights. Her hips, tummy and bottom jutted out from her slim torso all the way round, like a beer garden table under a closed parasol, and while her upper body movements were quick and grabby, the lower half had definite waddle. Later when we discussed this unusual physical arrangement, Hero made us roar with laughter by saying she had a waist like a Subuteo player’s base. It looked like someone had welded a Barbie Doll on to a Sumo wrestler. But it wasn’t the shape of her that caused consternation. It was her behavior down route.
She came out with the crew to Luke’s club and to watch her you’d think she had just been released from a rusty chastity belt. She pinched male bottoms, grabbed the crotches of young men with surprising vigor as they brushed past her, and thrust her boobs at any man in the vicinity on the dance floor. She snogged the face off an astonished young Brazilian, who then had to wriggle out of her grasp, and make a run for it. We all watched on in horror, as she got more and more pissed and leery. Helen, one of the younger members of our crew forced to temporarily befriend her, suggested she come back to the hotel, to all our relief. By this time Denise had picked up a couple of young guys and was cuddling them, inviting them back to her room for a party. The four of them left, Helen looking decidedly uneasy, and dragging her feet against the pull of Denise’s drunken exuberance. Poor Helen, she was regretting her decision almost immediately.
We heard no more until the next day. The three of us were enjoying a morning coffee and a bit of breakfast, before heading off to Luke’s beach club for the day. We were just in the middle of a giggly discussion about Denise and her leather bustier when in to the dining room came a furious looking Helen, and we waved her over to join us. She plonked herself down, and as we could see she was seething about something, I thought it best to get her a coffee and get her settled, so she would spill the beans. Well, out it all came, to our joy. She had returned with Denise and the two lads, who spoke no English, to the hotel in the early hours, thinking she could disappear to her room and leave them to whatever they wanted to get up to. By this time Denise had chosen the one she wanted, and seemed to think that Helen would accept the remainder. She got Helen on one side and whispered that she couldn’t go to her room, as our Captain was in her bed waiting for her, which was exciting for us to hear, we had no idea she’d already shagged him. ( And he was a right old bugger, who looked exactly like Tommy Steel. In fact we’d amused ourselves several times near him on the crew bus by singing “Half A Sixpence” and “Once I had a Little White Bull” under our breaths.) Denise pleaded and persuaded Helen to let them have a drink in her room instead, and although Helen initially refused, eventually she was embarrassed enough by Denise’s baby talk and pouting “Pretty pleases!” to relent. Big mistake for the poor lass.
She sat on the bed with the stranger, made him coffee and watched the telly, while Denise snogged her way to the bathroom with her young lad and locked the door. Helen said, with cringing horror, her and the young man’s shy mate had to sit through forty minutes of sexual grunting and a strange cooing sound, emanating from the bathroom, while attempting to make small talk unsuccessfully. Out came Denise flushed and happy and still with her hands all over the guy. She snogged him at the door, then picked up her bag, gave a slurry thank you to Helen, and stumbled out the door, leaving Helen to face the guys, and tell them a firm good night. She had to push them out of her room while they jabbered in Portuguese, obviously expecting a bed for the night. By this time, she was exhausted, and angry with the departed Denise, her senior by at least eighteen years, who had behaved like a slutty teenager at a Pontin’s disco, and then abandoned her to deal with the pick-ups.
It wasn’t until much later that the excrement really hit the fan for poor Helen. After a troubled slumber, she had arisen to face the day and knew we were meeting for breakfast so decided to join us, and dish the dirt on her Denise experience. She got a nice hot shower, and washed her hair, just as normal, like we all do, not expecting anything untoward as she reached for a towel off the rail on the end wall of the bath. When she pulled it round her it seemed damp, but still, she knew she hadn’t used it. Maybe it just felt damp from the steam, so she continued drying her body with it. When she pulled the smaller one off the rail to wrap her hair, this one was definitely wet. She held it up confused, and then in a suspicious and doubtful state, she sniffed it. One whiff was enough for her to fling it across the bathroom in shock and disgust. It was soaking wet with piss. In fact, it was stained yellow with piss. All the towels on the rail were wet, some more soaked than others. She was disbelieving and in her naiveté, baffled. Then she noticed the floor, it was wet too behind the toilet, and she knew for a fact she hadn’t soaked it with her shower. She threw some pieces of loo paper down to soak it up and when they turned to lemon sog, her hideous suspicions were confirmed. The floor had been soaked by a very different kind of shower, the acrid golden urine kind. And that sort of shower could only have come from two sources. The bladders of her late night bathroom borrowers. She was absolutely f**king enraged, and threw the towel she was draped in down on the floor to soak up the piddle puddle, and got back under the hot water immediately. She scrubbed till she was raw, and still she felt filthy.
She had to dry herself off on a T-shirt, and then wrapped it round her hair. By this time her rage at Denise knew no bounds. We were agog for every detail, Hero staring and secretly delighted to be included. We’re sure that he has trouble believing everything that goes on down route sometimes, so this was good for him to be involved at grass roots level. Helen continued with her tale of fury, and told us how she had dressed, and stormed down the corridor to Denise’s room and banged hard on the door. Eventually, after some muffled sounds of muttering and shuffling from inside, a male voice (Our Captain Tommy Steel’s actually) piped up “No thanks, we’re still sleeping.” Helen banged again and shouted for Denise to come out. The door finally opened and a pretty little face with panda eyes and a shock of blonde fluff peered round. Helen reached in, got hold of Denise’s hair and dragged her in to the corridor.
We leaned forward, giddy with excitement, this was the best thing we’d heard in ages! “Was there a fight!?” I asked “Did you punch her!?” asked Hero. “Go on!” Jue said breathlessly. No, Helen hadn’t punched her, but she had pulled her hair and slapped her face, which was funnier, because Denise’s eyes filled with tears, and she asked what was wrong in a really wounded way. When Helen said, “You! You dirty cat, I’ve just dried myself with the towels you peed on! What the f**k are you playing at?” Denise looked confused, said “Oh right. Sorry about that.” Helen screamed “Sorry! Sorry! How dare you?” We gasped, “What did she say back?” whispered Julie. “That it was just a bit of fun, and she thought she’d mopped it all up.” raged Helen. Denise had gone back in to her room, and returned a few seconds later with an arm full of towels from her bathroom. Helen made her come to her room by marching her down the corridor to collect the dirty ones, so that the Maid didn’t think it was Helen who had wee’d on hotel property.
Denise still wasn’t fully embarrassed and simply dumped them on the Maid’s trolley and got fresh ones as she went past. As she went in to her own door, she turned back to Helen and in a stage whisper said “Don’t tell anyone, will you?”
Hero was disgusted but pleased to be involved, Jue and I had all our suspicions confirmed that Denise was kinky, and Helen made sure absolutely everyone knew about it. Especially our Captain, who looked shame faced, like he was hiding something, which he was. We laid it on really thick, and kept repeating “Did you hear? Denise peed on Helen’s towels, and Helen dried her face with them!” (Which was an exaggeration but the general gist.) The Captain just coughed and said it must have been a misunderstanding. Yeah right! What a load of little white bull!
In all this excitement, we forgot to tell you something really funny that happened last trip we did together. Something that in our widest imaginings we couldn’t have pulled out of the hat! In fact two top things, something cracking happened on the night stop, and also our very own Julie here has fallen in love! She doesn’t want me to tell you about it yet cos it’s early days, but me and Hero are chuffed to bits! And it all happened in Sau Paulo, which is a fantastic place to go, full of music and life and fashion. Hero was with me because he was working doing some of his promotions, so he came out on our flight (which I love, because he’s gorgeous and I am so proud of him, he’s a delight to display. Also, people he meets later tell me how much he loves me, and which female could deny the unending thrill of being told flattering information like that?) We always make sure that Julie doesn’t feel gooseberry when with us, and she’s agreeing here that she never feels left out. Hero is a real gentleman and thinks the world of her, and because he’s funny she enjoys the laugh the three of us have. But she was slightly pining for her own man. Don’t get me wrong, she gets more attention than 25 of me, but no one seems to really blow her frock up. At work she is forever being given business cards from male passengers, some really important and influential men, and she always receives them graciously but never calls. She never chucks them out though, they are the perfect texture and thickness for making roaches for our joints. We’ve smoked the Managing Directors and COE’s of some top companies.
Yeah Jue, I am going to tell them about that first, then in the next book we’ll do your exciting tale. You’re right Love, they won’t believe it happened either! Ok, on the crew of 17 that we took with us to Sao Paulo was an unusual lady. We’d not met her before but when she greeted us in the briefing room, it was like we’d been separated at birth, so chummy was her introduction and her hug. To be honest, it was a little disconcerting; she was not a respecter of personal body space and had to constantly touch our shoulders or arms as she spoke to us. And she’s the kind of person who speaks directly into your face, inches too close for comfort, and grins and nods as you answer her slightly intrusive questions. We’ll call her Denise. Now, on the way over to Brazil, Hero flew upstairs in Club Class, but we had to work down the back in Cattle. When I introduced Denise to my man as I popped to the upper deck to peck his cheek, she was extremely friendly with him, right in close and really touchy. He did recoil just a bit, and gritted his teeth, as she was just too invasive. I smirked at him over her pally shoulder, and he glanced down at her legs and lifted his eyebrows to indicate to me we’d have something to talk about later.
Right, I’m going to have to be careful here as I describe Denise’s appearance, so we don’t sound like a pair of total bitches. Whatever way we put it, it is going to sound cruel, but here goes. Denise was a lady of 42, divorced, maybe a little lonely, but definitely quite highly sexed. She asked Hero about our sex life in between serving him drinks, can you believe it? She asked if it was just me who got the goods, or was Julie in the bedroom picture too? Hero was astonished at the intensity of the question, and tried to make a joke as she stroked his forearm and looked right in to his eyes. He laughed and said no, but he’d have a long, hard think about that one! She made a low moaning sound in her throat, and said she could “feel the juices flowing” which nearly made Hero gag, and actually made him afraid of her. We were shocked when he told us. It was really distasteful. Fancy talking about fanny batter to someone else’s fella.
She was a difficult shape to dress, shall we say. She was a pretty faced blonde, with a neat size ten top half and a good bosom, but from the midriff down, a very surprising change in body form occurred. Top half firm and slender, no doubt about it, but the rest of her was pushing a good size eighteen, with thighs like prime hams. Hero could not take his eyes off them. She had huge porky knees like body builder’s shoulders, and the thickest ankles and chubbiest feet to ever pop over the top of a pair of cabin shoes. It looked like she was wearing inflatable tights. Her hips, tummy and bottom jutted out from her slim torso all the way round, like a beer garden table under a closed parasol, and while her upper body movements were quick and grabby, the lower half had definite waddle. Later when we discussed this unusual physical arrangement, Hero made us roar with laughter by saying she had a waist like a Subuteo player’s base. It looked like someone had welded a Barbie Doll on to a Sumo wrestler. But it wasn’t the shape of her that caused consternation. It was her behavior down route.
She came out with the crew to Luke’s club and to watch her you’d think she had just been released from a rusty chastity belt. She pinched male bottoms, grabbed the crotches of young men with surprising vigor as they brushed past her, and thrust her boobs at any man in the vicinity on the dance floor. She snogged the face off an astonished young Brazilian, who then had to wriggle out of her grasp, and make a run for it. We all watched on in horror, as she got more and more pissed and leery. Helen, one of the younger members of our crew forced to temporarily befriend her, suggested she come back to the hotel, to all our relief. By this time Denise had picked up a couple of young guys and was cuddling them, inviting them back to her room for a party. The four of them left, Helen looking decidedly uneasy, and dragging her feet against the pull of Denise’s drunken exuberance. Poor Helen, she was regretting her decision almost immediately.
We heard no more until the next day. The three of us were enjoying a morning coffee and a bit of breakfast, before heading off to Luke’s beach club for the day. We were just in the middle of a giggly discussion about Denise and her leather bustier when in to the dining room came a furious looking Helen, and we waved her over to join us. She plonked herself down, and as we could see she was seething about something, I thought it best to get her a coffee and get her settled, so she would spill the beans. Well, out it all came, to our joy. She had returned with Denise and the two lads, who spoke no English, to the hotel in the early hours, thinking she could disappear to her room and leave them to whatever they wanted to get up to. By this time Denise had chosen the one she wanted, and seemed to think that Helen would accept the remainder. She got Helen on one side and whispered that she couldn’t go to her room, as our Captain was in her bed waiting for her, which was exciting for us to hear, we had no idea she’d already shagged him. ( And he was a right old bugger, who looked exactly like Tommy Steel. In fact we’d amused ourselves several times near him on the crew bus by singing “Half A Sixpence” and “Once I had a Little White Bull” under our breaths.) Denise pleaded and persuaded Helen to let them have a drink in her room instead, and although Helen initially refused, eventually she was embarrassed enough by Denise’s baby talk and pouting “Pretty pleases!” to relent. Big mistake for the poor lass.
She sat on the bed with the stranger, made him coffee and watched the telly, while Denise snogged her way to the bathroom with her young lad and locked the door. Helen said, with cringing horror, her and the young man’s shy mate had to sit through forty minutes of sexual grunting and a strange cooing sound, emanating from the bathroom, while attempting to make small talk unsuccessfully. Out came Denise flushed and happy and still with her hands all over the guy. She snogged him at the door, then picked up her bag, gave a slurry thank you to Helen, and stumbled out the door, leaving Helen to face the guys, and tell them a firm good night. She had to push them out of her room while they jabbered in Portuguese, obviously expecting a bed for the night. By this time, she was exhausted, and angry with the departed Denise, her senior by at least eighteen years, who had behaved like a slutty teenager at a Pontin’s disco, and then abandoned her to deal with the pick-ups.
It wasn’t until much later that the excrement really hit the fan for poor Helen. After a troubled slumber, she had arisen to face the day and knew we were meeting for breakfast so decided to join us, and dish the dirt on her Denise experience. She got a nice hot shower, and washed her hair, just as normal, like we all do, not expecting anything untoward as she reached for a towel off the rail on the end wall of the bath. When she pulled it round her it seemed damp, but still, she knew she hadn’t used it. Maybe it just felt damp from the steam, so she continued drying her body with it. When she pulled the smaller one off the rail to wrap her hair, this one was definitely wet. She held it up confused, and then in a suspicious and doubtful state, she sniffed it. One whiff was enough for her to fling it across the bathroom in shock and disgust. It was soaking wet with piss. In fact, it was stained yellow with piss. All the towels on the rail were wet, some more soaked than others. She was disbelieving and in her naiveté, baffled. Then she noticed the floor, it was wet too behind the toilet, and she knew for a fact she hadn’t soaked it with her shower. She threw some pieces of loo paper down to soak it up and when they turned to lemon sog, her hideous suspicions were confirmed. The floor had been soaked by a very different kind of shower, the acrid golden urine kind. And that sort of shower could only have come from two sources. The bladders of her late night bathroom borrowers. She was absolutely f**king enraged, and threw the towel she was draped in down on the floor to soak up the piddle puddle, and got back under the hot water immediately. She scrubbed till she was raw, and still she felt filthy.
She had to dry herself off on a T-shirt, and then wrapped it round her hair. By this time her rage at Denise knew no bounds. We were agog for every detail, Hero staring and secretly delighted to be included. We’re sure that he has trouble believing everything that goes on down route sometimes, so this was good for him to be involved at grass roots level. Helen continued with her tale of fury, and told us how she had dressed, and stormed down the corridor to Denise’s room and banged hard on the door. Eventually, after some muffled sounds of muttering and shuffling from inside, a male voice (Our Captain Tommy Steel’s actually) piped up “No thanks, we’re still sleeping.” Helen banged again and shouted for Denise to come out. The door finally opened and a pretty little face with panda eyes and a shock of blonde fluff peered round. Helen reached in, got hold of Denise’s hair and dragged her in to the corridor.
We leaned forward, giddy with excitement, this was the best thing we’d heard in ages! “Was there a fight!?” I asked “Did you punch her!?” asked Hero. “Go on!” Jue said breathlessly. No, Helen hadn’t punched her, but she had pulled her hair and slapped her face, which was funnier, because Denise’s eyes filled with tears, and she asked what was wrong in a really wounded way. When Helen said, “You! You dirty cat, I’ve just dried myself with the towels you peed on! What the f**k are you playing at?” Denise looked confused, said “Oh right. Sorry about that.” Helen screamed “Sorry! Sorry! How dare you?” We gasped, “What did she say back?” whispered Julie. “That it was just a bit of fun, and she thought she’d mopped it all up.” raged Helen. Denise had gone back in to her room, and returned a few seconds later with an arm full of towels from her bathroom. Helen made her come to her room by marching her down the corridor to collect the dirty ones, so that the Maid didn’t think it was Helen who had wee’d on hotel property.
Denise still wasn’t fully embarrassed and simply dumped them on the Maid’s trolley and got fresh ones as she went past. As she went in to her own door, she turned back to Helen and in a stage whisper said “Don’t tell anyone, will you?”
Hero was disgusted but pleased to be involved, Jue and I had all our suspicions confirmed that Denise was kinky, and Helen made sure absolutely everyone knew about it. Especially our Captain, who looked shame faced, like he was hiding something, which he was. We laid it on really thick, and kept repeating “Did you hear? Denise peed on Helen’s towels, and Helen dried her face with them!” (Which was an exaggeration but the general gist.) The Captain just coughed and said it must have been a misunderstanding. Yeah right! What a load of little white bull!
Captain Non-sensible.
Captain Non-Sensible:
Readers, we often love our Pilots. Most are nice guys. Some are great fun, kind, fair, patient, capable and generally good people to be around. Some though, can be a bit of a handful and it’s these types we are addressing when we tell you about two very peculiar characters in this chapter. We will never generalize, but often, because of their position, male Pilots can be naughty in the strangest and most unbecoming ways! Remember that Pilots are surrounded by nice looking girls a lot of the time. They are high earners, very respected, used to being admired, and they stay in five star hotels in great places. Obviously, this is all fantastic in a man’s mind. It can make some of them a little arrogant. We’ve met some corkers over the years. The burke who droned on and on about his home by the sea in Bournemouth and his model daughter, saying “You’re a pretty girl, but you’re very plain compared to my daughter.” There was also the nutter who would call us in to the flight deck and ask if we wanted to see his cock. He would then pull out one of those rubber chickens they had on Spitting Image. He always got new girls with this, and on the day he got Jue she simply looked him directly in the eye, pointed at the chicken and said “To be honest I’d rather suck that than yours.”
The First Officer sniggered, and Jue said “Don’t you follow in his ways, he is dicing with a sacking if someone gets offended, but at least he’s old enough to retire. You would be left weeping mate!” Good old Jue! She’s fab at getting control of unfunny men. Oh yes, just to clarify, if it had been a really nice, funny guy, the chicken would have made us laugh, as you know, we love a bit of cheek. Coming from a randy, leery fifty odd year old bloke with teeth like broken biscuits, ear hair like a Marmoset monkey, and dinner plate sweat stains under his arms, it was hard to take. The new girls hated him for showing them up, the dirty old man. He’d been doing it for years. Still he didn’t learn a thing, he did it to me two weeks after Jue, which I expected of course. I snatched it off him and said I was going to ask the passengers if they wanted to see the Captain’s cock too! He looked f**king stricken as I left the flight deck. I made an announcement, which he would have heard through the door or on the intercom, asking if any of the passengers had lost it, and if not if any of them would like it. It eventually went to a little disabled boy who thought it was fab! I insisted on giving it a once over with steri-wipes though. That Pilot was the kind of bloke who would scratch his bollocks hard and then sniff his finger ends when he thought no one was looking.
Now, another thing that happened that was horrible but ended up being hilarious was one time we were in Dubai, and it was just a night stop, we only have 24 hours there. We got in really late at night, checked in our to our rooms which were adjoining of course, we always ask for them if we can! It makes it so much easier for borrowing each other’s stuff and chatting. We had to run in to our showers and fresh clothes and rush to the crew room for a drink, all because Jue and one of the First Officers were in full on fancy-each-other mode. The Pilot in question was a really nice looking lad, good repartee, fashionable, (RARE!) and he knew about house music (UNHEARD OF!) Jue was quite taken with him, and of course, he was right in to her, even though they had only chatted briefly on the flight. I saw him searching for her all the time after we left the aircraft and got on the crew bus, you know the thing, distracted. He was watching her all the time.
Well we got to the party and it was the usual mixture of sitting around in little huddled groups, drinking games and the odd funny pissed-up show off dancing to someone’s MP3 and speakers. One minute raucous laughter, one minute everyone knackered and off to their rooms. Announcing to a room party that you are off to your bed means you will be there for at least another forty five minutes. All through the two hours we spent enjoying ourselves, our old Captain had been making a right beeline for me. (Fr*ggin’ charming Readers, Jue gets the young dashing First Officer, I get the old crusty Captain, who looked like he could be lawn green bowling pals with my Great Uncle Morris.) He got me pinned in the corner by myself, and I had to frantically signal to Jue over his shoulders with my eyes to rescue me. I was missing out on a right laugh with our Gay lads, Jordan and Alistair. I kept telling old Four Striper about Hero, and my happiness and my future marriage, but it was like I was speaking Swahili. He was really going for it, telling me that next year, when he retired, he was getting a pension of £120,000 a year, had loads of money invested, and lots of property. He’d bought a home on that Palm Sand Island thing and would I like to go and view it the next day? He assured me that his “next” life partner was going to live like a Princess. He leaned in meaningfully and stroked my cheek. I patted his hand kindly, and in my secretly sarcastic way, I said “Well, she’s a lucky lady indeed. Spend it quickly love, either before she does, or before it goes in death duties.” I heard Jue titter, she always gets my sneaky cracks. Well, I got away and eventually he gave up and drifted off to bed, but before he did he came over to the table, lifted my hand and kissed it. Ermmm, I couldn’t believe that all my talk about my gorgeous Hero hadn’t worked. Jue said he was gallant, but it felt more like blatant. Yes, blatantly angling for a shag, and I looked the best prospect. I was glad when he had gone, it’s not nice being hit on by an insistent old boy.
Well, Jue arranged to have breakfast with the FO, she wasn’t wanting anything more that night, she suddenly wasn’t sure about him, plus she was “eating a Strawberry Mivvi” which is another of our codes for Ladies Monthly Times. So we decided we would go too, but when I looked for my room key card I couldn’t find it, and Jue assured my I had left it in the room, she had hers and both the adjoining doors were unlocked so I could get in. She was convinced it was on the bedside, and I, just a bit tipsy, had no reason to disbelieve her. We giggled and staggered back to the rooms, and let ourselves in to Jue’s. We shoved the telly on, and got our miniature Baileys out of our bags and had a nightcap. Now Readers, we can’t tell you now what we were saying by that stage, the alcohol, tiredness and of course jet lag were all kicking in. It would have been vulgar, cheeky, insulting and not funny to anyone but ourselves. We rocked, we roared, we collapsed squealing with laughter down the side of the bed, we split our sides and the jokes went on and on. We definitely insulted the old crusty Captain, well I know I did anyway, calling him shrivel d**k, and dry knacker, which sent Jue in to creases.
At ten to two, still as high as giggling geese, I opened the doors between the bedrooms and stood on the threshold of the dark room, doing Jue an impression of a little old man wanking. As I reached for the light switch on the dressing table, still laughing and pulling nasty faces, some sudden movement in the bed made me shriek out in terror. Jue yelped too at my shock, and threw herself across her room to my side. She grabbed our empty wine bottle as a weapon, and voice shaking called “Who’s there, who is it?!!” Some one was getting out of my bed. We were both breathing hard as I reached round and snapped the light on, and with our mouths gaping open, we saw our old Captain trying to clamber out of the covers, his eyes all blinky and frightened. “You dirty old get!” Jue yelled, “What are you doing in Lizzy’s room!” He was wearing bottle green Y-fronts with a chewing gum grey elastic trim, and he had loads of frizzy white chest hair, with a gold St. Christopher nestling in it. He had a pot belly, skinny legs and varicose veins. “Get out now before we report you!” Jue shouted. He fumbled around trying to get his trousers on quick. We were astonished, disgusted, furious but drunkenly quite highly amused. Well, of course, I started laughing, I was doubled over by the time he had grabbed his shoes. He said he had the key to the room, that he must have picked the wrong one up, he was sorry, it was a mix-up. It was a lie, the dirty old bugger. He knew his own room number alright! All crew have a hotel room homing device no matter what state they get in to. Plus my stuff was everywhere, my uniform, my toiletries, my nightie gown on the bed, and most alarmingly of all my knickers were there, and I’m quite sure, not where I left them. The thought that he might have “interfered” with my private laceys made us nearly heave. I was cringing and had to chuck them in the bin just in case.
Really, it wasn’t a laughing matter, I don’t know why we found it so funny, well apart from we’d had too much to drink. It was a nasty, perverted thing to do, and showed shocking arrogance and bad judgment on his part. But we made sure he crept out of there like wounded puppy, we humiliated him to within an inch of his manhood by laughing and pointing at his crotch as he tried to escape. We later found one of his socks on the chair, dirty bugger! Well, we thought we had scared him enough not to have to report him, and make the last year of his career a disgrace. He must have done it loads of times over the years, and maybe it had a success rate at one point. I remember a Far Eastern Stewardess say that she gave the Pilots sex so they would leave her alone. Mad logic????? The funny part was that when we were carrying-on in Jue’s room, one of the things that had amused us was that we could here loud snoring through the wall, but we weren’t able to trace the source over the telly. I certainly didn’t realise it was coming from my room. Anyway, after the shock and the hysteria had calmed down, I refused to sleep in my bed in case he had pumped in it. I got in with Jue. The next day at pick up, he studiously ignored us, so we stared at him really hard to make him uncomfortable, and we kept it up for ages. He was bloody squirming. We got him back later on in the flight though, of course we told everyone, and some were appalled, some delighted and some of the Gay lads plotted our revenge. Jordan got a pair of his spare underpants out of his crew bag, little white briefs, and he actually slipped them in to the Captains inside jacket pocket on the hook, when he was in the flight deck getting hot drinks orders. Of course it’s us, so before he did the pant sneaking, we melted a dairy milk chocolate bar in the oven a bit and smeared it on the arse part. We never saw the Captain pull them out of his pocket, but we hope he did it in public, preferably during a custom’s search or in front of the Operations Manager or Chief Training Pilot. It didn’t happen in front of us sadly, but we hope he got the point. Revenge is as sweet as the chocolate in those undies!!!
Readers, we often love our Pilots. Most are nice guys. Some are great fun, kind, fair, patient, capable and generally good people to be around. Some though, can be a bit of a handful and it’s these types we are addressing when we tell you about two very peculiar characters in this chapter. We will never generalize, but often, because of their position, male Pilots can be naughty in the strangest and most unbecoming ways! Remember that Pilots are surrounded by nice looking girls a lot of the time. They are high earners, very respected, used to being admired, and they stay in five star hotels in great places. Obviously, this is all fantastic in a man’s mind. It can make some of them a little arrogant. We’ve met some corkers over the years. The burke who droned on and on about his home by the sea in Bournemouth and his model daughter, saying “You’re a pretty girl, but you’re very plain compared to my daughter.” There was also the nutter who would call us in to the flight deck and ask if we wanted to see his cock. He would then pull out one of those rubber chickens they had on Spitting Image. He always got new girls with this, and on the day he got Jue she simply looked him directly in the eye, pointed at the chicken and said “To be honest I’d rather suck that than yours.”
The First Officer sniggered, and Jue said “Don’t you follow in his ways, he is dicing with a sacking if someone gets offended, but at least he’s old enough to retire. You would be left weeping mate!” Good old Jue! She’s fab at getting control of unfunny men. Oh yes, just to clarify, if it had been a really nice, funny guy, the chicken would have made us laugh, as you know, we love a bit of cheek. Coming from a randy, leery fifty odd year old bloke with teeth like broken biscuits, ear hair like a Marmoset monkey, and dinner plate sweat stains under his arms, it was hard to take. The new girls hated him for showing them up, the dirty old man. He’d been doing it for years. Still he didn’t learn a thing, he did it to me two weeks after Jue, which I expected of course. I snatched it off him and said I was going to ask the passengers if they wanted to see the Captain’s cock too! He looked f**king stricken as I left the flight deck. I made an announcement, which he would have heard through the door or on the intercom, asking if any of the passengers had lost it, and if not if any of them would like it. It eventually went to a little disabled boy who thought it was fab! I insisted on giving it a once over with steri-wipes though. That Pilot was the kind of bloke who would scratch his bollocks hard and then sniff his finger ends when he thought no one was looking.
Now, another thing that happened that was horrible but ended up being hilarious was one time we were in Dubai, and it was just a night stop, we only have 24 hours there. We got in really late at night, checked in our to our rooms which were adjoining of course, we always ask for them if we can! It makes it so much easier for borrowing each other’s stuff and chatting. We had to run in to our showers and fresh clothes and rush to the crew room for a drink, all because Jue and one of the First Officers were in full on fancy-each-other mode. The Pilot in question was a really nice looking lad, good repartee, fashionable, (RARE!) and he knew about house music (UNHEARD OF!) Jue was quite taken with him, and of course, he was right in to her, even though they had only chatted briefly on the flight. I saw him searching for her all the time after we left the aircraft and got on the crew bus, you know the thing, distracted. He was watching her all the time.
Well we got to the party and it was the usual mixture of sitting around in little huddled groups, drinking games and the odd funny pissed-up show off dancing to someone’s MP3 and speakers. One minute raucous laughter, one minute everyone knackered and off to their rooms. Announcing to a room party that you are off to your bed means you will be there for at least another forty five minutes. All through the two hours we spent enjoying ourselves, our old Captain had been making a right beeline for me. (Fr*ggin’ charming Readers, Jue gets the young dashing First Officer, I get the old crusty Captain, who looked like he could be lawn green bowling pals with my Great Uncle Morris.) He got me pinned in the corner by myself, and I had to frantically signal to Jue over his shoulders with my eyes to rescue me. I was missing out on a right laugh with our Gay lads, Jordan and Alistair. I kept telling old Four Striper about Hero, and my happiness and my future marriage, but it was like I was speaking Swahili. He was really going for it, telling me that next year, when he retired, he was getting a pension of £120,000 a year, had loads of money invested, and lots of property. He’d bought a home on that Palm Sand Island thing and would I like to go and view it the next day? He assured me that his “next” life partner was going to live like a Princess. He leaned in meaningfully and stroked my cheek. I patted his hand kindly, and in my secretly sarcastic way, I said “Well, she’s a lucky lady indeed. Spend it quickly love, either before she does, or before it goes in death duties.” I heard Jue titter, she always gets my sneaky cracks. Well, I got away and eventually he gave up and drifted off to bed, but before he did he came over to the table, lifted my hand and kissed it. Ermmm, I couldn’t believe that all my talk about my gorgeous Hero hadn’t worked. Jue said he was gallant, but it felt more like blatant. Yes, blatantly angling for a shag, and I looked the best prospect. I was glad when he had gone, it’s not nice being hit on by an insistent old boy.
Well, Jue arranged to have breakfast with the FO, she wasn’t wanting anything more that night, she suddenly wasn’t sure about him, plus she was “eating a Strawberry Mivvi” which is another of our codes for Ladies Monthly Times. So we decided we would go too, but when I looked for my room key card I couldn’t find it, and Jue assured my I had left it in the room, she had hers and both the adjoining doors were unlocked so I could get in. She was convinced it was on the bedside, and I, just a bit tipsy, had no reason to disbelieve her. We giggled and staggered back to the rooms, and let ourselves in to Jue’s. We shoved the telly on, and got our miniature Baileys out of our bags and had a nightcap. Now Readers, we can’t tell you now what we were saying by that stage, the alcohol, tiredness and of course jet lag were all kicking in. It would have been vulgar, cheeky, insulting and not funny to anyone but ourselves. We rocked, we roared, we collapsed squealing with laughter down the side of the bed, we split our sides and the jokes went on and on. We definitely insulted the old crusty Captain, well I know I did anyway, calling him shrivel d**k, and dry knacker, which sent Jue in to creases.
At ten to two, still as high as giggling geese, I opened the doors between the bedrooms and stood on the threshold of the dark room, doing Jue an impression of a little old man wanking. As I reached for the light switch on the dressing table, still laughing and pulling nasty faces, some sudden movement in the bed made me shriek out in terror. Jue yelped too at my shock, and threw herself across her room to my side. She grabbed our empty wine bottle as a weapon, and voice shaking called “Who’s there, who is it?!!” Some one was getting out of my bed. We were both breathing hard as I reached round and snapped the light on, and with our mouths gaping open, we saw our old Captain trying to clamber out of the covers, his eyes all blinky and frightened. “You dirty old get!” Jue yelled, “What are you doing in Lizzy’s room!” He was wearing bottle green Y-fronts with a chewing gum grey elastic trim, and he had loads of frizzy white chest hair, with a gold St. Christopher nestling in it. He had a pot belly, skinny legs and varicose veins. “Get out now before we report you!” Jue shouted. He fumbled around trying to get his trousers on quick. We were astonished, disgusted, furious but drunkenly quite highly amused. Well, of course, I started laughing, I was doubled over by the time he had grabbed his shoes. He said he had the key to the room, that he must have picked the wrong one up, he was sorry, it was a mix-up. It was a lie, the dirty old bugger. He knew his own room number alright! All crew have a hotel room homing device no matter what state they get in to. Plus my stuff was everywhere, my uniform, my toiletries, my nightie gown on the bed, and most alarmingly of all my knickers were there, and I’m quite sure, not where I left them. The thought that he might have “interfered” with my private laceys made us nearly heave. I was cringing and had to chuck them in the bin just in case.
Really, it wasn’t a laughing matter, I don’t know why we found it so funny, well apart from we’d had too much to drink. It was a nasty, perverted thing to do, and showed shocking arrogance and bad judgment on his part. But we made sure he crept out of there like wounded puppy, we humiliated him to within an inch of his manhood by laughing and pointing at his crotch as he tried to escape. We later found one of his socks on the chair, dirty bugger! Well, we thought we had scared him enough not to have to report him, and make the last year of his career a disgrace. He must have done it loads of times over the years, and maybe it had a success rate at one point. I remember a Far Eastern Stewardess say that she gave the Pilots sex so they would leave her alone. Mad logic????? The funny part was that when we were carrying-on in Jue’s room, one of the things that had amused us was that we could here loud snoring through the wall, but we weren’t able to trace the source over the telly. I certainly didn’t realise it was coming from my room. Anyway, after the shock and the hysteria had calmed down, I refused to sleep in my bed in case he had pumped in it. I got in with Jue. The next day at pick up, he studiously ignored us, so we stared at him really hard to make him uncomfortable, and we kept it up for ages. He was bloody squirming. We got him back later on in the flight though, of course we told everyone, and some were appalled, some delighted and some of the Gay lads plotted our revenge. Jordan got a pair of his spare underpants out of his crew bag, little white briefs, and he actually slipped them in to the Captains inside jacket pocket on the hook, when he was in the flight deck getting hot drinks orders. Of course it’s us, so before he did the pant sneaking, we melted a dairy milk chocolate bar in the oven a bit and smeared it on the arse part. We never saw the Captain pull them out of his pocket, but we hope he did it in public, preferably during a custom’s search or in front of the Operations Manager or Chief Training Pilot. It didn’t happen in front of us sadly, but we hope he got the point. Revenge is as sweet as the chocolate in those undies!!!
Wednesday 30 May 2007
Where we're at!
You're here and we're very happy to see you! We feel like we are answering the door at a massive party we're having, and we keep getting hugs off fab friends and party people we're delighted have accepted our invite! Get your coat off and have a glass of Jue's special Rum Punch Surprise (HA! the surprise is.......... there's no rum in it! Everything else but no Rum!)
So..... we wrote a book! Therefore we are writers, nay novelists! Hell, we're just about Barbara Cartland, but our eye make-up is less gloopy. We cannot tell you how the writing of a book completely takes over your life. It is actually painful and stressful not to write, when your mind is oozing with ideas and images, and thoughts and descriptions. It becomes a complusion, like needing a ciggie, to be forced away from it makes you twitchy. You need it. If you don't write you'll lose your grasp on the amazing thought you've just had, the memory will fade and diminish and never be as good again. So work, real work, paid work, becomes massively inconvenient, in fact a real ball ache of gargantuan proportions. And to fly is even worse, the weird hours, the time changes, the lag, all getting in the way of writing!!! What's that all about? Days, weeks, indeed months went by where we flew, and wrote, and flew and slept on the settee, and wrote more at ten to four in the morning, all out of kilter, exhausted but driven, but we had to write this book! And we loved it, such a fab laugh, such funny, side-splitting, rib-aching tear-streaming memories. Everyone should write a book!
Well, we're going to tell you a bit about how we got to this stage, and this lovely web site, so many things have happened in such an amazing way. One of the people we want to thank is the divine Hannah Jordan of www.postcardsfromlondon.com who we met on MySpace. As you may know we set up our MySpace account in September, just to test the waters with a few chapters, and see if anyone else apart from us thought they were funny. We were dead scared!!! What if we were shite? Plus we don't know about computers so html codes were a mystery to us, and we worked hard to get our page looking pretty and Air Hostessy. We didn't even know how to get friends, so we did a search for anyone mentioning Stewardesses and asked to be their friends. The very first guy replied "How about you two go eat a pound of dog shit?" It wasn't a good start! But then he was a twisty faced miserable plonker, and who'd want that ugly knob as a mate? So we were a bit stung, but everyone else of the ten we asked really liked us, and we got some top comments on the blogs we'd posted. In weeks we didn't need to request friends at all, they came to us!
Very early on we got Hannah, and as she was so stylish, we were chuffed! On and on it went, more and more friends, all loving our work, till the only problem was keeping up. MySpace could be a full time job in itself. In the midst of all this, we had interest from the only Publisher we approached, but we didn't go with it because it meant totally handing over all control, and them changing what we'd put. No good! But it was a brave decision, to turn down the chance to be published at that stage could have been literary suicide. But even if all this had never happened, we still would have wanted to keep everything as it is, because it is what it is, and makes no excuses for itself. Bit like us really! And we could have shown our memoirs to our Grandchildren, when they were 21!
Yes, so, while all this was going on and loads of decisions, and up in the air quite literally, and lots of faffing about, we received an image in to our comments on MySpace. It was gorgeous, an image of Hosties and aeroplanes, and really, really lovely design. We loved it! And that image came in to us from Hannah Jordan, and unbeknownst to Hannah we had decided to release a CD to go along with the book, and we were dollying around with ideas for the cover. And suddenly, here it was! All we asked is that she slightly change the shades of it, and when we told her our proposal for her work, she was delighted to get on board, and since then she has produced some wonderful images and designs for us. As she is an ex-Hostie herself, she just totally understands the things we love, and her work rate is exceptional. What a talent.
The music side of things has been astonishing too. Early in the year, we made a tentative enquiry with our dear friend Mr Mike, who is a groundbreaking DJ and music producer based in Switzerland. He is known as the Godfather of Swiss House. He has his own record company, Map Dance, based in Bern, he plays around the world, and has a national radio show. This is a man who is a magical journey to be around, never have we met anyone with such energy, verve and sense of fun. He is wonderful! We asked him if we could use some of his music, and he very kindly agreed. We love his work, play it all the time, and always, always take his tunes on trips with us. He is the perfect way to get the party started! Well, very quickly we realised that there are two sides to music down route, we love to party, but of course, we need to chill. To balance out the madness that is the flying life style, we need to rest and relax sometimes.
We asked Mike what to do because we have another amazing friend, but one we were shy to approach. We are friends with Lenny Ibizarre, a divine musical genius, born in Denmark but living blissfully in Ibiza, and he is an Ibizathan chill-out legend. This a man who makes the most beautiful music we've ever heard, dreamscape stuff. He does incredible things like play the sunset down at Cafe del Mar and Mambos on Sun Set strip in Ibiza (of course, where else could be so heavenly) and he makes movie soundtracks. We told Mike about our dreams, and he said "Ask Lenny! Who else does chill-out so fantastic, plus he is very kind." We emailed Lenny so nervous, and do you know, he mailed straight back insisting he do it, and delighted to be asked. Well, we nearly fell over! Two top notch and amazing DJ's happy to help, and sending us music we adore! How is it possible that we could have such incredible friends!!!! And the strange part about it is that although Mike and Lenny have been to the same events, even in the same room on occasion, they have never actually met! So there! The creation of "Jet Lags and Crew Bags" one CD chill and dream, one CD dance and party. What a stunning combination. And of course with a beautiful cover, thanks Hannah!
So, while all this was going on we were setting up a business, and we had to, just had to call it BingBong! It's a sound that instantly alerts us to action, we're like Pavlov's Dogs in the cabin, we hear a "Bing Bonnnnng!" see a pink light in the cabin and spring to life. Plus the Bong part of it reminds us of happy events too, we were working in Amsterdam after all! So we are company directors! We couldn't direct traffic normally, not with our jet lag! We picked our theme, Hannah went to work with her flash brilliance and another friend Daniel, who is a computer superstar, stepped in to put it all together. Everyone helped, everyone encouraged, we got a Manager, Sy, who knows about these things and is a top bloke. We had meetings with important people who know about card fraud, and online stuff, and back end software and servers and things that we sat there bemused at. Once I turned to Jue and said really loudly, "Oooo Jue, the brake on my trolley got really jammed the other day!" she hooted with laughter and said "Yes, and the latch on the locker was dead stiff!" They just looked at us like we were mental.
We got interested in producing a range of fashions, we love the fashions, come on, we're female, it's practically the law! They will be ready to send to the fashion savvy very soon, and we think they will be cult items, especially to those in Aviation. We thought up all the slogans on the t-shirts, and Hannah drew them, we laughed and laughed when we saw them. And it's bags next, and lots of other lovely goodies!! What brill fun to choose styles and fabrics, and go to massive warehouses full of clothes and great items, and get samples! This is shopping on a mega scale! And we realised that we spent a fortune on sun glasses! Bloody sun glasses! Always losing them, breaking them, sitting on them, leaving them on the crew bus, hundreds of pounds a year on crappy pieces of plastic to stop us getting rhummey eyes and wrinkles. We thought we'd pick some dead nice ones and sell them on the site! Not ones that rip you off to the tune of £129 quid though! Stylish and fab but without the laughable price tag. Great designs, really good protection and funky styles, all at a 1/4 of the price we normally pay! Four pairs for the price of one! We looked at loads of ranges but most of them were shite, so we went with Nueu (New-ay) and we loved them! Maybe you'll think they are as good as we do, hope so,
So, that's us right now! A top book, a great CD and lovely fashions. Along with great friends, our own business and a bright looking future, and best of all, we fly! How exciting can life be? Very exciting indeed, when you have love, support, friendship and a great job!
So..... we wrote a book! Therefore we are writers, nay novelists! Hell, we're just about Barbara Cartland, but our eye make-up is less gloopy. We cannot tell you how the writing of a book completely takes over your life. It is actually painful and stressful not to write, when your mind is oozing with ideas and images, and thoughts and descriptions. It becomes a complusion, like needing a ciggie, to be forced away from it makes you twitchy. You need it. If you don't write you'll lose your grasp on the amazing thought you've just had, the memory will fade and diminish and never be as good again. So work, real work, paid work, becomes massively inconvenient, in fact a real ball ache of gargantuan proportions. And to fly is even worse, the weird hours, the time changes, the lag, all getting in the way of writing!!! What's that all about? Days, weeks, indeed months went by where we flew, and wrote, and flew and slept on the settee, and wrote more at ten to four in the morning, all out of kilter, exhausted but driven, but we had to write this book! And we loved it, such a fab laugh, such funny, side-splitting, rib-aching tear-streaming memories. Everyone should write a book!
Well, we're going to tell you a bit about how we got to this stage, and this lovely web site, so many things have happened in such an amazing way. One of the people we want to thank is the divine Hannah Jordan of www.postcardsfromlondon.com who we met on MySpace. As you may know we set up our MySpace account in September, just to test the waters with a few chapters, and see if anyone else apart from us thought they were funny. We were dead scared!!! What if we were shite? Plus we don't know about computers so html codes were a mystery to us, and we worked hard to get our page looking pretty and Air Hostessy. We didn't even know how to get friends, so we did a search for anyone mentioning Stewardesses and asked to be their friends. The very first guy replied "How about you two go eat a pound of dog shit?" It wasn't a good start! But then he was a twisty faced miserable plonker, and who'd want that ugly knob as a mate? So we were a bit stung, but everyone else of the ten we asked really liked us, and we got some top comments on the blogs we'd posted. In weeks we didn't need to request friends at all, they came to us!
Very early on we got Hannah, and as she was so stylish, we were chuffed! On and on it went, more and more friends, all loving our work, till the only problem was keeping up. MySpace could be a full time job in itself. In the midst of all this, we had interest from the only Publisher we approached, but we didn't go with it because it meant totally handing over all control, and them changing what we'd put. No good! But it was a brave decision, to turn down the chance to be published at that stage could have been literary suicide. But even if all this had never happened, we still would have wanted to keep everything as it is, because it is what it is, and makes no excuses for itself. Bit like us really! And we could have shown our memoirs to our Grandchildren, when they were 21!
Yes, so, while all this was going on and loads of decisions, and up in the air quite literally, and lots of faffing about, we received an image in to our comments on MySpace. It was gorgeous, an image of Hosties and aeroplanes, and really, really lovely design. We loved it! And that image came in to us from Hannah Jordan, and unbeknownst to Hannah we had decided to release a CD to go along with the book, and we were dollying around with ideas for the cover. And suddenly, here it was! All we asked is that she slightly change the shades of it, and when we told her our proposal for her work, she was delighted to get on board, and since then she has produced some wonderful images and designs for us. As she is an ex-Hostie herself, she just totally understands the things we love, and her work rate is exceptional. What a talent.
The music side of things has been astonishing too. Early in the year, we made a tentative enquiry with our dear friend Mr Mike, who is a groundbreaking DJ and music producer based in Switzerland. He is known as the Godfather of Swiss House. He has his own record company, Map Dance, based in Bern, he plays around the world, and has a national radio show. This is a man who is a magical journey to be around, never have we met anyone with such energy, verve and sense of fun. He is wonderful! We asked him if we could use some of his music, and he very kindly agreed. We love his work, play it all the time, and always, always take his tunes on trips with us. He is the perfect way to get the party started! Well, very quickly we realised that there are two sides to music down route, we love to party, but of course, we need to chill. To balance out the madness that is the flying life style, we need to rest and relax sometimes.
We asked Mike what to do because we have another amazing friend, but one we were shy to approach. We are friends with Lenny Ibizarre, a divine musical genius, born in Denmark but living blissfully in Ibiza, and he is an Ibizathan chill-out legend. This a man who makes the most beautiful music we've ever heard, dreamscape stuff. He does incredible things like play the sunset down at Cafe del Mar and Mambos on Sun Set strip in Ibiza (of course, where else could be so heavenly) and he makes movie soundtracks. We told Mike about our dreams, and he said "Ask Lenny! Who else does chill-out so fantastic, plus he is very kind." We emailed Lenny so nervous, and do you know, he mailed straight back insisting he do it, and delighted to be asked. Well, we nearly fell over! Two top notch and amazing DJ's happy to help, and sending us music we adore! How is it possible that we could have such incredible friends!!!! And the strange part about it is that although Mike and Lenny have been to the same events, even in the same room on occasion, they have never actually met! So there! The creation of "Jet Lags and Crew Bags" one CD chill and dream, one CD dance and party. What a stunning combination. And of course with a beautiful cover, thanks Hannah!
So, while all this was going on we were setting up a business, and we had to, just had to call it BingBong! It's a sound that instantly alerts us to action, we're like Pavlov's Dogs in the cabin, we hear a "Bing Bonnnnng!" see a pink light in the cabin and spring to life. Plus the Bong part of it reminds us of happy events too, we were working in Amsterdam after all! So we are company directors! We couldn't direct traffic normally, not with our jet lag! We picked our theme, Hannah went to work with her flash brilliance and another friend Daniel, who is a computer superstar, stepped in to put it all together. Everyone helped, everyone encouraged, we got a Manager, Sy, who knows about these things and is a top bloke. We had meetings with important people who know about card fraud, and online stuff, and back end software and servers and things that we sat there bemused at. Once I turned to Jue and said really loudly, "Oooo Jue, the brake on my trolley got really jammed the other day!" she hooted with laughter and said "Yes, and the latch on the locker was dead stiff!" They just looked at us like we were mental.
We got interested in producing a range of fashions, we love the fashions, come on, we're female, it's practically the law! They will be ready to send to the fashion savvy very soon, and we think they will be cult items, especially to those in Aviation. We thought up all the slogans on the t-shirts, and Hannah drew them, we laughed and laughed when we saw them. And it's bags next, and lots of other lovely goodies!! What brill fun to choose styles and fabrics, and go to massive warehouses full of clothes and great items, and get samples! This is shopping on a mega scale! And we realised that we spent a fortune on sun glasses! Bloody sun glasses! Always losing them, breaking them, sitting on them, leaving them on the crew bus, hundreds of pounds a year on crappy pieces of plastic to stop us getting rhummey eyes and wrinkles. We thought we'd pick some dead nice ones and sell them on the site! Not ones that rip you off to the tune of £129 quid though! Stylish and fab but without the laughable price tag. Great designs, really good protection and funky styles, all at a 1/4 of the price we normally pay! Four pairs for the price of one! We looked at loads of ranges but most of them were shite, so we went with Nueu (New-ay) and we loved them! Maybe you'll think they are as good as we do, hope so,
So, that's us right now! A top book, a great CD and lovely fashions. Along with great friends, our own business and a bright looking future, and best of all, we fly! How exciting can life be? Very exciting indeed, when you have love, support, friendship and a great job!
Sunday 13 May 2007
Tenner-Riff-Raff.
We've had a little jaunt away! Two days in Tenerife visiting a friend we used to fly with who now lives there and has a fashion shop. It was an absolute last minute decision, which is always good,
and guess what! We, yes, WE! had to pay full fare! Outrageous cheek, not a bargain to be had anywhere on the web, and no air crew discounts available. Disgraceful.
We are very spoiled, we have a great deal going on with staff travel, and we like to make the most of it. Alright, over the years we've kicked the arse out of it proper, we once went on hoilday to Thailand for ten days and it cost £118 for the flights and the hotel! And about £800 in spends on clothes and bags, but who's counting? What a bargain, it was fab and we came back totally happy and chilled. We used to slip away for a weekend regularly, but we've been too busy lately to do much of it, so Tenerife was a nice surprise. It's a beautiful island, and the islanders are lovely friendly people.
So we booked a last minute flight on the internet, and travelled with a nice charter airline based here in the UK from our local airport. They are a fairly big company, and have a good name for friendly staff and being very on-time. The thing that shocked us though were the passengers on board. We were actually ashamed. The were the worst dressed, most bad mannered, rude and scruffy bunch of people to ever be granted passports. There were more than two hundred people on the aircraft, and those you could class as decent could have been counted on one hand. We're
going to describe in no uncertain terms why they were so horrible, and why we felt that the lovely Spanish folk they were about to descend on must have been scared. Many of them were fat, badly out of shape, but wearing clothes that made their flab look worse, belly tops, hipsters and silky football shorts and shirts. Fair enough if you are big and descreet about it, but why think that everyone wants to admire the blubber? And why do chavvy Brits abroad think everyone wants to know what team they support? It's like a comfort blanket to belong to a football gang, probably because they realise they are so common and unsophisticated, they will stand out like a sore thumb on the Continent for being scuffs so they advertise they are a bit tough and hard, so don't take the piss! We take the piss because they do this, it has the opposite effect to the one they hope. Britain is getting very common now, to be greedy, ignorant, stupid, aggressive, ugly and pointless is actually ok! Never has political correctness benefited such a revolting group of people so much, no one can say a word against these types. The lunatics really are taking over the asylum.
Many had hideous home made tattoos, they had tons of nasty cheap gold jewellery dangling from every available nook and cranny, the men had shaved heads showing off a collection of motley looking scars, and the women had blobby bird shite highlights, and twisted expressions of bad attitude. They were horrible to their own kids, snarling at them, smacking them and generally being aggressive in every way. There were two stag parties and two hen parties on board, fair enough, all good fun and happy times. Until that is, a fight broke out between a stag and a hen, who until that moment had been getting off with each other, her cackling with laughter as he commented on the tattoo on her tit, asking for a shag. The language plummeted to the level of this thing, purporting to be a female, screaming "F**k off, or I'll get me C**t out and really f**king frighten yer!" in front of everyone. We don't know if she was kidding or not. Me and Jue just sat there shocked.
The poor crew were battered from one end of that aircraft to the other. Lots of things went wrong for them. They sold the headsets you need to watch the movie, me and Jue got one each to watch Dreamgirls with Beyonce, but although the movie was playing the sound wasn't coming out. We had sympathy, when your IFE (In Flight Entertainment) goes down, it's a right disaster. On our long haul it means the crew will be tormented for hours, as without the distraction some passengers get really demanding. Suddenly, after a couple of apologetic PA's from the Supervisor, the soundtrack boomed at full volume round the cabin to the level where we couldn't speak to each other, we felt so sorry for the crew. They eventually managed to switch off the whole system, but not before some passengers had bellowed at them, demanding the headset money back and being really unpleasant. While all this was going on, some crew were trying to serve the bar and being pummelled relentlessly with massive bar orders, having their clothes pulled and being snapped at and insulted for how long it was taking. They were constantly having to push the trolleys back and forth to let passengers pass to go to the toilets, and we then found out that the onboard tills were faulty and they were having to do everything manually. Nightmare.
The queues at the loos were ridiculous, the crew couldn't work for them. Loads of people were standing up in the aisle, and letting kids roam free, very stupid and dangerous to some one trying to drag an enormous trolley along. The stupid passengers were constantly pressing the call bells, moaning about how long it was taking to get a drink, further disturbing the crew and slowing them down even more. One idiotic woman near us hammered the call bell and when the Stewardess came down, having to leave her bar and picking her way over the plebs in the aisle, she told her that "She feels sick, get us a sick bag or somemut." (Slang for something.) The Hostie got her bags and cloths, and told her to take the little girl to the toilet in case she was ill. About ten minutes later, Jue, to her despair, had to join the loo queue at the front and when she got there, the Stewardess was just attempting to bring the trolley back in after two hours of hideous bar service, Jue said she looked like she'd done ten rounds but she was still smiling and polite. The woman came out of the loo with the child, said to the Stewardess, "She never made it!" and pointed to a load of sick splattered over the catering boxes in the galley and all over the crew seat. Then she pushed past her, dragging the child, and left the poor girl to clean it up in the midst of all this bedlam. Jue got hand towels out of the loo and felt awfully sorry for her, and as she was on her hands and knees trying to clean it up, ignorant passengers were stepping over her back to the toilet, and crowding the tiny galley tutting and muttering.
They then had to serve a hot meal, and one of the ovens had failed so they had a right carry on swapping the racks around. The passengers were snatching the food off them and then complaining because the tea and coffee were slow coming. They never even said please or thank you, it seemed to have escaped their notice that there were over two hundred of them and just five crew to do all this service. It was disgusting to witness and me and Jue gushed with politeness to make up for the lack of manners from the rest of the Scroat Army on board. It was a hot, hassled, stressful, horrible flight for those lovely people working as crew, and on leaving the aircraft we heard one evil old bitch, her leather chest bearing a collection of medallions nestling in her drooping bosoms say 'That was the worst flight we've ever had!" right in the Supervisors face. We said "Thank you for working so hard, and for all you've done." We never said we were crew, but we made the girl beam and say thanks back, but she just looked so weary and stressed as she said "That was the worst flight I've done in ten years, but thanks for being nice!"
So it's very hard when things go wrong, cabin crew are amazing people to cope with these things and we are very proud of them. To stand on an aircraft and look around you and realise that things are going badly and you cannot take a break from it but must continue doing your best, can make you hate flying and long for a desk job with no responsibility. Until that is, the chance to apply for one comes up, and then thinking of the laughs, camaraderie and good times, you'd rather stick pins in your eyeballs than give up flying!
and guess what! We, yes, WE! had to pay full fare! Outrageous cheek, not a bargain to be had anywhere on the web, and no air crew discounts available. Disgraceful.
We are very spoiled, we have a great deal going on with staff travel, and we like to make the most of it. Alright, over the years we've kicked the arse out of it proper, we once went on hoilday to Thailand for ten days and it cost £118 for the flights and the hotel! And about £800 in spends on clothes and bags, but who's counting? What a bargain, it was fab and we came back totally happy and chilled. We used to slip away for a weekend regularly, but we've been too busy lately to do much of it, so Tenerife was a nice surprise. It's a beautiful island, and the islanders are lovely friendly people.
So we booked a last minute flight on the internet, and travelled with a nice charter airline based here in the UK from our local airport. They are a fairly big company, and have a good name for friendly staff and being very on-time. The thing that shocked us though were the passengers on board. We were actually ashamed. The were the worst dressed, most bad mannered, rude and scruffy bunch of people to ever be granted passports. There were more than two hundred people on the aircraft, and those you could class as decent could have been counted on one hand. We're
going to describe in no uncertain terms why they were so horrible, and why we felt that the lovely Spanish folk they were about to descend on must have been scared. Many of them were fat, badly out of shape, but wearing clothes that made their flab look worse, belly tops, hipsters and silky football shorts and shirts. Fair enough if you are big and descreet about it, but why think that everyone wants to admire the blubber? And why do chavvy Brits abroad think everyone wants to know what team they support? It's like a comfort blanket to belong to a football gang, probably because they realise they are so common and unsophisticated, they will stand out like a sore thumb on the Continent for being scuffs so they advertise they are a bit tough and hard, so don't take the piss! We take the piss because they do this, it has the opposite effect to the one they hope. Britain is getting very common now, to be greedy, ignorant, stupid, aggressive, ugly and pointless is actually ok! Never has political correctness benefited such a revolting group of people so much, no one can say a word against these types. The lunatics really are taking over the asylum.
Many had hideous home made tattoos, they had tons of nasty cheap gold jewellery dangling from every available nook and cranny, the men had shaved heads showing off a collection of motley looking scars, and the women had blobby bird shite highlights, and twisted expressions of bad attitude. They were horrible to their own kids, snarling at them, smacking them and generally being aggressive in every way. There were two stag parties and two hen parties on board, fair enough, all good fun and happy times. Until that is, a fight broke out between a stag and a hen, who until that moment had been getting off with each other, her cackling with laughter as he commented on the tattoo on her tit, asking for a shag. The language plummeted to the level of this thing, purporting to be a female, screaming "F**k off, or I'll get me C**t out and really f**king frighten yer!" in front of everyone. We don't know if she was kidding or not. Me and Jue just sat there shocked.
The poor crew were battered from one end of that aircraft to the other. Lots of things went wrong for them. They sold the headsets you need to watch the movie, me and Jue got one each to watch Dreamgirls with Beyonce, but although the movie was playing the sound wasn't coming out. We had sympathy, when your IFE (In Flight Entertainment) goes down, it's a right disaster. On our long haul it means the crew will be tormented for hours, as without the distraction some passengers get really demanding. Suddenly, after a couple of apologetic PA's from the Supervisor, the soundtrack boomed at full volume round the cabin to the level where we couldn't speak to each other, we felt so sorry for the crew. They eventually managed to switch off the whole system, but not before some passengers had bellowed at them, demanding the headset money back and being really unpleasant. While all this was going on, some crew were trying to serve the bar and being pummelled relentlessly with massive bar orders, having their clothes pulled and being snapped at and insulted for how long it was taking. They were constantly having to push the trolleys back and forth to let passengers pass to go to the toilets, and we then found out that the onboard tills were faulty and they were having to do everything manually. Nightmare.
The queues at the loos were ridiculous, the crew couldn't work for them. Loads of people were standing up in the aisle, and letting kids roam free, very stupid and dangerous to some one trying to drag an enormous trolley along. The stupid passengers were constantly pressing the call bells, moaning about how long it was taking to get a drink, further disturbing the crew and slowing them down even more. One idiotic woman near us hammered the call bell and when the Stewardess came down, having to leave her bar and picking her way over the plebs in the aisle, she told her that "She feels sick, get us a sick bag or somemut." (Slang for something.) The Hostie got her bags and cloths, and told her to take the little girl to the toilet in case she was ill. About ten minutes later, Jue, to her despair, had to join the loo queue at the front and when she got there, the Stewardess was just attempting to bring the trolley back in after two hours of hideous bar service, Jue said she looked like she'd done ten rounds but she was still smiling and polite. The woman came out of the loo with the child, said to the Stewardess, "She never made it!" and pointed to a load of sick splattered over the catering boxes in the galley and all over the crew seat. Then she pushed past her, dragging the child, and left the poor girl to clean it up in the midst of all this bedlam. Jue got hand towels out of the loo and felt awfully sorry for her, and as she was on her hands and knees trying to clean it up, ignorant passengers were stepping over her back to the toilet, and crowding the tiny galley tutting and muttering.
They then had to serve a hot meal, and one of the ovens had failed so they had a right carry on swapping the racks around. The passengers were snatching the food off them and then complaining because the tea and coffee were slow coming. They never even said please or thank you, it seemed to have escaped their notice that there were over two hundred of them and just five crew to do all this service. It was disgusting to witness and me and Jue gushed with politeness to make up for the lack of manners from the rest of the Scroat Army on board. It was a hot, hassled, stressful, horrible flight for those lovely people working as crew, and on leaving the aircraft we heard one evil old bitch, her leather chest bearing a collection of medallions nestling in her drooping bosoms say 'That was the worst flight we've ever had!" right in the Supervisors face. We said "Thank you for working so hard, and for all you've done." We never said we were crew, but we made the girl beam and say thanks back, but she just looked so weary and stressed as she said "That was the worst flight I've done in ten years, but thanks for being nice!"
So it's very hard when things go wrong, cabin crew are amazing people to cope with these things and we are very proud of them. To stand on an aircraft and look around you and realise that things are going badly and you cannot take a break from it but must continue doing your best, can make you hate flying and long for a desk job with no responsibility. Until that is, the chance to apply for one comes up, and then thinking of the laughs, camaraderie and good times, you'd rather stick pins in your eyeballs than give up flying!
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