shepherd's pie approved for cabin baggage

Last weekend, I took a short trip to icecreammecca to catch up with friends and family.  Wur crew (our pet name for the classy team that are Ryanair cabin personnel) were late for once and it was after midnight when I arrived at my house.  Saturday there was lunch with aunties and cousins and sisters at Mrs. Formans.  I remembered a red flock wallpapered pub where my grandad would take a glass or so with his cronies.  How it has changed.

On Sunday, I hoped to surprise my friend wifiewhogoesforlunch for her birthday.  She had decided to go for a jaunt, but her sneaky brother, arbiteroftaste picked me up in his cool car and chased through the Scottish countryside to catch up with them.  We had a nice walk at Bracklinn Falls and then we went back to their house. Her husband, blokewhogoesfishing cooked us a lovely Sunday dinner.  That's where the shepherd's pie comes in.  I had bought one of Tesco's finest to have for dinner on Sunday.  What to do with the shepherd's pie?

Sunday evening was spent studying the various sites and advice about what one may take in cabin baggage.  Yoghurt, 100 mls only in your clear plastic bag with your toothpaste and haemorrhoid cream.  Jam, same.  Salsa, no. Peanut butter, no.  Salad dressing, no.  But not a word about shepherd's pie.  Gravy is expressly forbidden.  I wondered how much gravy is in finest shepherd's pie. I decided to risk it.  

On Monday, I had Lunch with horseysis, highheelsis and legallyniece in Bar Sygn and then it was off to the airport. I prepared myself for the shepherd's pie security screening.  After an airport coffee with wifiewhogoesforlunch, I made my way airside.  I travel without belts and jewellery and all the other stuff that slows things down at security, so I am normally through fairly fast.  I was looking forward to providing some entertainment for the other travellers with my shepherd's pie.  I imagined their puzzled faces at the sight of a shepherd's pie in the confiscated items bin.  I saw their pitying smiles as I explained the lack of internet guidance on mince and mashed potato dishes.  I visualised them at their destinations telling how somewifie tried to take shepherd's pie on a plane.

It was my turn.  I unzipped my shiny new purple suitcase and took out my laptop.  The shepherd's pie was safe in the other compartment with the bacon and cheese.  I stepped through the archway.  No beep.  We had almost made it, my shepherd's pie and me.  Then my bright purple case was moved from the conveyor belt to the table where they put items for hand searching.  I was all set to lose my shepherd's pie.  I waited as non English speakers were divested of their shaving foam and shampoo.  

The lady with the latex gloves turned to her colleague.  "What's in this one?" she asked, indicating the lovely shiny purple case.  He shrugged.  "Is this yours?" she asked in an almost threatening tone.  I nodded.  My mind was scanning the empty fridge in porkandcabbageland looking for an alternative dinner.  "I am just going to test the outside" she said.  She took a cotton wool swab and wiped over the shiny purple polycarbonate.  She put the cotton wool swab in a device which confirmed the non-explosive nature of the polycarbonate.  My shepherd's pie had passed the test.

Grumpygermanman

One of the things I like to take a holiday from is speaking German. On this trip, I had the transfer to the hotel with a German couple.  We spoke German at the airport and on the journey to the hotel.  They asked where I came from.  When I told them, he said "Bad place. Bad weather. Narrow roads"  I did not see them for days after that and so I could enjoy my holiday eavesdropping German conversations without anyone knowing that I am understanding what they are saying.  


Not that they were saying anything interesting.  I was treated to a detailed description of a forthcoming home cinema installation; a rant about how children should not be allowed to go on holiday; a conspiracy to persuade (left behind) children to become vegetarian; a recommendation for christian religious music in the Malayalan language.  You have to eavesdrop a lot of conversations to harvest anything more interesting than cheese purchases. 


Towards the end of my stay I bumped into grumpygermanman again.  "We shall be leaving together" he informed me in a tone that inferred that that would be something for me to look forward to.  As I settled my bill (just INR 125 for some laundry) the receptionist took a telephone call.  "I am sorry sir, they will finish by around 9.15pm" the receptionist said.  By that I realised that someone was ranting about the "infernal noise" from the music and dance presentation on the open air stage.  Go too far back on that stage and you are over the cliffs into the sea.  Somehow the face and voice of grumpygermanman flashed through my mind.


Sure enough at 1.30 am when we met for our departure that was one of his 1001 points to complain about.  His litany lasted all the way to the airport.  I took my seat in the plane.  Who was right behind me?  Oh yes.  There he was.  At the end of the flight he presented his addendum of complaints.  Worst flight ever apparently.  I fly a lot.  I had my tempur transit pillow (best thing ever) and my ipod (even better thing ever).  I had an on demand entertainment system.  I had a comfy seat and great service.  grumpygermanman had 101 things to complain about.


Poor grumpygermanman.  We had the same holiday.  I came home relaxed and happy.  Grumpygermanman, I fear, returned to his office on the Monday morning to be renamed evengrumpiergermanman.

spa visit in porkandcabbageland

Just finished the Indian washing, when 6 ladies came to stay for the weekend.  We planned a spa visit for Sunday.  There is a thermal bath in waltzcity at Oberlaa with an exceedingly good cake shop.  But we decided to see a bit of the countryside and headed for the town of Baden.  Beethoven used to escape to Baden for the summer and walk in the hills and drink the local plonk.  


Off we went on the public transport.  We took the underground which does not actually go underground very much.  And then we took a tram that calls itself a train.  The tram thing took us through the middle of all the ugly industrial estates at the south of the city.  Not quite what I wanted to show the ladies.  It took us about an hour to get to Baden. On the journey my guests were eager to know all about life in porkandcabbageland, how long we have been recycling our rubbish, how long people wait for operations (not at all), how the ordinary people live (well) and so on.  There were shocked gasps when I told that there are no curtains round hospital beds.  The ladies were all nurses.


Once there we made our way straight to the thermal bath and off we went.  We stepped into the first warm pool inside and followed the schedule of bubbles and jets in different parts of the pool every 5 minutes.  Next we headed outside to loll in warm water at 32 degrees with our heads in the freezing cold. Another schedule of jets and bubbles was to be followed.  As the bubbles appeared, one of the ladies regretted wearing a two piece swimsuit.  The bubbles inflated her top making her look like a fat lady from a saucy postcard.  We laughed.  The elegant Austrian ladies with their pencilled eyebrows and red lipstick and startled look from the hair pulled too far back laughed too.  


The final pleasure was the sulphur pool.  At 36 degrees it was as warm as a bath.  Warnings were posted not to spend more than 20 minutes in there.  Disastrous consequences for the circulation were promised to those who did not comply.  And so we dashed round that pool rather quickly. We looked forward to the benefits for our joints and organs.  Soon we had to dash out or risk paying an extra 1.70 for overstaying our time. 


Smelling of rotten eggs, we made our way to see the town. The house where Beethoven composed his 9th symphony, the elegant Kurpark, the flashy casino and - inexplicably - 3 open shops were viewed with appreciation.  


The map then guided us to the edge of the town to a typical heuriger.  I explained that there would be a buffet of food for self service consisting of pork and cabbage in many many forms and only local wine or soft drinks. The ladies chose their pork dishes.  Some of them opted for blunz'n (that's pork with blood and spices - a bit like black pudding) with cabbage. They liked it. 


As we were there a group of ladies arrived.  From their clothes and make up, I could tell they were Russian.  I looked to see if Ludmilla and  Svetlana from my yoga class were amongst them.  They were celebrating a birthday.  Platters were brought.  Of pork. We left before they started singing.


The ladies were thrilled to discover that our train back to waltzcity had an upstairs, they had been on all modes of transport on their various trips, but never a train with upstairs.  Our skin was soft.  Our hair was crazy.  We had had a lovely day.  Must do that more often.