Swear I don't always write scathing reviews.

United Airlines.  What a joke.  What a plentiful source of hilarity.  Fly United if you want a good belly laugh.  And if you’re willing to have that laugh at yourself, and at the abundance of total incompetence you’ve landed yourself in.  To be honest you can at least be grateful you’ve landed somewhere.  And even more grateful if your luggage has landed with you.

I am writing this whilst sat in stunning Hawaii, wearing a bikini bought from Walmart, courtesy (we hope) of United.  This is the result of our fourth unsuccessful flight in four days.  We began our saga with United upon leaving London almost an hour late; after a smooth journey we arrived to Newark with a race against time to collect our bags and check in to our connecting flight.  We were met at the desk by a man who remarked, ‘well miracles can happen’.  Optimism or sarcasm?  Well I can tell you that when travelling with United a huge dose of both is highly recommended.  Next was security where we were escorted through by a man who hit a child.  A slight exaggeration perhaps for him knocking their arm out of the pathway accompanied by a sharp scolding, but he was a rude man nonetheless.

We made the flight! Hurrah!  After legging it to the gate and undergoing the embarrassing walk down the plane as those annoying passengers that everyone is waiting for, we were on board.  But was our luggage?  United staff had reassured us that if we got on the plane so too would our bags; we had a sneaky suspicion that this was a lie, but we kept faith until arriving in Las Vegas.  It was like a fun game watching that carousel, some extra entertainment laid on by United (or perhaps compensation for one of our television screens failing to work throughout the journey?).  Will our bags arrive or won’t they?  Place your bets now.  They didn’t appear.  Shock horror.  We were sent off to our hotel with a toiletries bag each, so we at least had minty fresh breath upon waking in the morning while a less than agreeable fragrance exuded from everywhere else as a result of sleeping in the same clothes we’d been travelling in.  Thankfully by this time our bags had been delivered to the hotel so we weren’t nasally offensive for much longer.

Two days later we trustfully handed ourselves and our belongings over to United again.  But much later than planned.  Two and a half hours later to be exact.  Our flight was delayed due to weather conditions, but once again we had a connecting flight.  The United lady at the gate said that the journey was only forty minutes so there was a chance we would make the connection to Kona, Hawaii.  It was the only one to our destination that day so she kept us booked on, but also provisionally booked us on to an alternative flight to Hilo, still on the same Hawaiian island, but a two hour drive from our hotel.  Once we had boarded the plane, the attendant explained how the total time would be approximately seventy five minutes, with forty in the air plus taxi time either side.  So we were doomed from the outset; we wouldn’t catch the next aeroplane the United staff had so tantalisingly given us hope for.  This same representative had also sorted out indoor transport to drive us from one gate to the next as some extra help.  Fantastic news.  So we shot off at the other end, even though we had missed our connection it was still going to be tight reaching the alternative.  There was no buggy in sight; but we knew United by then, we hadn’t really expected one, don’t be silly!  Panting, we reached the gate in time.  Yippee!  …To find that they had no idea who we were or that we had seats provisionally reserved.  Brilliant.  Luckily we were eventually allowed to board, with the forewarning that our bags definitely wouldn’t be accompanying us.  At least they had the decency to let us know in advance, saved the torture of the carousel game.

We touched down in Hawaii.  Without luggage, and two hours from where we needed to be with no idea how to get there, but United had at least dropped us on the correct island.  Which is more than they managed to do for one of our bags, but that’s a later story…  It must be pointed out that the United representatives at Hilo airport were absolutely wonderful.  They called a taxi for us and charged the fee to United Las Vegas (where the problems had originated).  They provided us with a rather luxurious toiletries collection this time (including laundry grains, how swish) and they even packed us a goody bag each from their staff room supplies!  It was here that we found out about the $25 allowance each for shopping to use whilst waiting on our luggage.  It is slightly concerning that we had to buy it ourselves and then submit a receipt to united.com, but we can hope.  This seems to happen a lot in fact; too many times we have been pointed to united.com, it appears that issues cannot be rectified when you’re standing there in person with an actual human from United one can interact with, they instead insist upon customers typing complaints into cyberspace to await an automated response.

At last we arrived at the hotel, and clambered into bed sporting new Walmart pyjamas, bellies satisfied after a lovely evening meal…oh wait, United made us miss that.  Correction, bellies full with rice krispies squares and crisps from the airport staff.  The following morning, one of our party went to the airport to enquire as to the whereabouts of our bags, due to the fact that we had been unable to get any further information over the phone or through the online tracker.  He was appalled to find a woman stowing our bags away into storage, as she had been given no instruction on what to do with them.  So he returned to the hotel with all the bags, apart from his.  Which had been sent to another island.  Surely it is harder to separate the bags than send them off together???!!  The incompetence is simply unbelievable.

We have been compensated at least.  With vouchers for United. 

Welcome to the house of fun.

My boyfriend and I have just returned from an enriching stay at Morville Hotel.  We felt instantly welcomed by the mid-Summer Christmas trees decorating the front and the goldfish who made the special effort to swim through their murky tank of filth to reach the glass and greet us.  Despite the lack of gym we managed our fair share of exercise through climbing all the stairs and opening all the doors that appeared at random intervals on the stairwell, serving no purpose other than for an arm workout, how thoughtful of them to include interval training as part of our experience.

Our room was a delight.  They had clearly paid particular attention to making the sheets have an individual design with stains splattered artily across them.  My boyfriend expressed concern that this might be dirt, but I reassured him there was definitely a cleaner because the odour of sick on one of the floors had later been mixed with the smell of chemicals so there was obviously a cleaner in existence.  We had a beautiful sea view from our window, panoramically enhanced by the hole in the ceiling.  They had provided one towel for the two of us which was a useful lesson in sharing; we were slightly disappointed not to have this towel fashioned into an origami style swan, or a chocolate on the pillows, however the hotel redeemed itself by the bonus black hair we found in the coffee.  The communal shower brought the next surprise of something furry lining the top of the temperature control; it was exciting because there was constantly something new to find!

Thank you Morville for helping us to appreciate what we have in life.

Big Issue chats and squabbles.

I am a great supporter of The Big Issue.  "Working not begging" is a highly respectable ethic to run this organisation by and the employees should be respected for this.  What many people do not realise is that the vendors buy their copies and sell them on, so they have to make sure they sell otherwise they will be even worse off.  I for one can understand it is a hard trade as I have often been that annoying person on the street corner trying to shove a flyer into the hands of passers by and it is a soul destroying job I can tell you.  Now that I have experienced this, I always take the flyers, or at least acknowledge the person with a polite "no thank you" as this is all we need: acknowledgement.  It is in fact much nicer to vocally decline than to  ignore us completely, the feeling of being invisible and non-existent is horrible and unusual, a strange spiral downwards into the angry pit of thinking that all these smart business people are looking down at your flyering inferiority.  And I got paid an hourly rate! It didn't even matter whether the flyers were shifted in the grand scheme of things, I just had to stand there being ignored and nothing for me would change financially.  But for the vendors of The Big Issue it is a hell of a lot different.

I met a lovely vendor at Vauxhall station a while ago who was in a wheelchair, Michael.  I got chatting to him and he explained how some other vendors had stolen a stack of his copies, clearly because he was more vulnerable in his chair and was unable to chase after them. This is absolutely disgusting.  His aim that night was to get enough money from the copies he had left to pay for a room for the night; he was also very unwell and due to go to the hospital with his support worker the following day.  I gave him the money for the cost of the room and took his number so that I could check in on him.  Unfortunately, I tried a couple of times to get hold of him, but to no avail.  Some may question his sympathy inducing tale because of this but he was a genuine man; I could tell from his posture and the way he moved and spoke that there was no acting there.  I must try to contact him again.

It is sad that we are often sceptical about situations and people, such as Michael's, I myself considered the possibility that I was being lead on, and feel irritated with myself that this even occurred to me.  I know a few people who always assume that thise they are dealing with are being manipulative and conniving, but for no real reason other than that they go around being constantly suspicious of people's intentions.  People can be nice because they are kind, and because they want to help, it is not always a selfish gesture, or fictional spiel to play on your empathetic side.

This is something I firmly believe and stick to.  Clearly everything can't fit into my rose tinted world and there will be the odd person that is not genuine.  I just think we should not live life worrying about this and assuming the worst conclusion....although you just have to accept that sometimes you will be caught out!...

I was caught out with my naïve approach to life by a homeless man in Covent Garden.  He was trying to sell his last magazine, which he said was a Big Issue.  I offered to buy it, and he took my money whilst popping the rolled up magazine into my large open bag.  On reflection, alarm bells should have rung!  As I left, passing his group of friends in the street I noticed they were all drinking beer.  This saddened me slightly, because I'd much rather see the Big Issue earnings be spent on food or something else more useful, then again, everyone is entitled to treats and fun!  This also made me realise I couldn't recall him wearing a Big Issue badge.  I stopped and pulled out my magazine, to find it was the free Covent Garden Guide.  AAARRGGHH.  As I said, I support the Big Issue because it is "working not begging", and I think this man should invest in that to make his way.  I was fuming at being tricked and stormed back to him demanding my money back.  He said that he had already given it to his boss and while I continued to argue, it reaped no rewards.  AND he was in another location with another magazine yelling out to the public that it was his last one.  The cheek! I have since told this story to friends and some of them have laughed, some have been appalled, some have given him big kudos for being so crafty.

I suppose I do not like "the homeless" to all be generalised.  There are adverts around warning you not to give money because it will be spent on drugs and people everywhere being moved on by the police.  However, there are those that work and those that are lazy, those that are genuine and those that will con, those that aren't even in it for the money (yes I have had one vendor offer me a discount!) and those that will do anything they can to take advantage of you.  We cannot pass judgement on any group as a whole, and we cannot look down on anyone.

Tube talk.

I love drunk Londoners.  When I am not being one myself I enjoy being exposed to their rash bravery and eagerness to make friends with strangers.  Why can't London be like this all the time? Imagine how many friends we'd all have if we just spoke to each other and didn't pretend to be alone whilst ignoring the armpit your nose is being squashed into on the tube.

One of my favourite encounters with drunks I have had was while waiting for the last tube on a Sunday night.  A man yelled at me to verify whether the man next to him was a spy.  Even if I had known I couldn't have disclosed this information to the rest of the platform so the man and his friend wandered over to discuss things further.  Conversation moved onto the suitcase I had, which contrary to their prediction actually contained costume and not holiday wear.  Upon discovering I was a dancer, one of the guys proceeded to explain that he was an acrobat.  Oh really?  This was most definitely a joke.  So I challenged him to demonstrate something as proof.  He did a back flip right there on the platform.  Oops...he could've died in his drunken state and I would've been to blame  (which interestingly he did warn me of beforehand).  I did very well out of this moment, not only did he land the back flip and therefore save me from a lifetime of guilt, he handed me his scarf to hold on to while he performed.  Jokingly, I asked "oh wow thanks, is this for me to keep?" He said yes.  Bingo!  This is why drunks are useful.  It must be pointed out that this was a girl's scarf and so he had probably won it in a similarly cheeky way...I hope.

The train arrived and we ended our brief but eventful time together by salsa dancing and waltzing through the carriage.  Made my day.  To all those who start conversation with a stranger, I salute you.

Beautiful eccentricity.

I met a wonderful man this week.  What an excellent specimen of a human being he was.  Wandering through the posh streets that lead the way to Victoria from Hyde park with my friend who is visiting from Argentina, we paused so I could get my bearings.  From across the road approached this fantastic man.  He wore a suit jacket over a bare chest, teamed with boxers, biker boots and a riding hat; these were accessorized with a dummy on his pinky.  He also pushed a buggy, to match the dummy I presume as there was no baby in it. 
His mission was a hunt for hugs... 'I've had such a bad day I just really need a hug', was his opening remark.  Why of course!  Who doesn't enjoy intimate contact with a half naked random on the street?  Especially one sporting Mothercare jewellery.  I received my cuddle and peck on the cheek before he swiftly moved on to my friend - 'and I must have a hug from your gorgeous friend too!'  Lucas, who was squatting down to rest was not in the most optimum position for this kind of activity, although I'm sure our new friend would have thought quite the opposite.  Before Lucas could risk the face to crotch "hug" that was looming he leapt up, entering into a rather prolonged embrace followed by a kiss upon each cheek.  'I'm not really having a bad day I just wanted a hug'; it transpired we were his first success story of the afternoon despite several earlier attempts.  He explained that he particularly relished the males who were willing to comply when you 'get to feel their boobies and their bums', all accompanied by gesticulations in case we needed confirmation as to the location of these body parts. 
As he left jauntily down the path towards his next targets it became apparent that his boxers were slightly too large for him, they had slipped down to allow his buttocks to peep out at us, a final farewell.  Poor Lucas wasn't entirely sure of what had just happened.  'I don't get it,' was all he could say, as if I did.  As if this was some kind of London tradition.

Thoughts in another direction...

I recently went to Glastonbury and met someone there who told me I should blog, as I seem like the kind of person who should share their reflections and findings on life.  After this fruitful and deep piece of advice I made the decision to do just that; I try to look past the fact he was heavily intoxicated.  This therefore will be a different kind of entry, based on my observations on human nature in general...

Now, where to begin?  I have so many thoughts whirling in my head it's hard to find a way to order them.  I suppose the general theme is happiness, and how we can so easily control this for ourselves and yet rarely do.  I think that society and social expectation has a lot to do with the way that controlling our own happiness can be a struggle and how this is perhaps not even realised.  Our Western society demands a specific path in life: have an education, get a job, find a partner, marry, buy a house, have children, continue to work, try to pay off the mortgage, retire.  I know so many people that do not fit their expected criteria at their current age, and they are unhappy because of this.  But I have to wonder, if they had no one else to compare themselves to, would they be unhappy? This leads me to delve deeper into the point of the path that I am nearing.  It is almost assumed that late teens into early twenties will have fun and mess around with the opposite sex, have a few relationships and then settle down later in their twenties with someone serious.  I have friends who are fed up of their single days and desperate to find a partner, whilst on the other end of the spectrum I know people who have ended very long term relationships purely because they started too young and feel they've missed out on their single days. I think that if these people could cut out everyone around them that they are comparing themselves to, they would be happy in their own lives; there would be no pressure on the singletons to find a partner, and no giving up a working relationship for those already in one.  The strange thing is, there are so many people who do not conform, but we all seem to feel inadequate if we don't.

Something that fascinates me is the negative mind set that sees people complain about everyday occurrences that might not even have happened.  By this I mean, for example, upon arrival at a bus stop someone utters the words, "I bet we just missed one".  Why?  Why be so negative? There is absolutely no evidence to suggest this and the person is sinking themselves into negativity for no reason at all.  It simply isn't worth it.  This is comparable to the weather haters and debaters...  If you explicitly state that you love the wintry cold then you have every right to moan about the high summer temperatures.  If not, get over it.  Moreover, enjoy it.  We never get sun in England so please do not say "it's a bit too hot though" when we finally have a spot of good weather.  It is amazing how the same set of events can be viewed in totally different ways; I went out with a friend recently who was worried that it would be raining, I consoled her by pointing out that at least it would be less busy if the weather was bad.  On the day, it was gloriously sunny and I commented on this, to which she replied, "oh no that's not good, it'll be really busy now".  I give up, focus on the positives!  It's as if some people actively find something to be miserable about.  Again, not worth it; isn't being happy the most important thing in life? So why place this negativity upon yourself? 

No dumping on the street.

On my travels I visited Vietnam where one of my most memorable experiences was witnessing a man poo on the street .  Not something you find recommended in the Lonely Planet, but one of the highlights nonetheless.  This is because I travelled to discover new cultures, adapt to other ways of life, and feel enriched by all of the weird and wonderful things that are out there.  I did not, therefore, expect to have the exact same experience in London.

Yes, the same experience.  My younger sister, and our mutual also younger friend had both come to stay with me.  It was a beautifully rare sunny day in the capital and I thought it would be lovely to take them for a picnic on Clapham Common.  As we were strolling down from my house, picnic blanket and supplies in hand, the sun smiling down at us, we spied a head poking out from between two cars parked at the side of the road.  Thinking nothing of it, (a repair man perhaps?) I continued gaily past until I realised that one of the girls had stopped.  I turned to see her face, a fantastic concoction of laughter and horror; she beckoned us back barely able to explain what she’d seen.  And there it was.  The evidence in all its glory.  Quite a champion achievement in fact.  No word of a lie, a few metres away from a “No Dumping” sign.  It is in fact his choice of location that baffles me the most, not even purely his insistence on engaging in this activity outside; we were three minutes walk from the common, at least go in the comfort of the trees. 

So there it is, don’t spend thousands of pounds and all that effort getting to the other side of the world for a cultural experience.  You can see a person excrete publicly anywhere.  What a delightful story for the girls to tell their mothers.