I turned up at Manchester T1 at 5am on a cold Wednesday morning, clutching my ‘flight only’ ticket. “The My Travel check in is just round there” barked the taxi driver. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight which greeted me.
The queue went almost back to Altringham & consisted of *****, ********, chug monkeys & just about ever other reprobate stereotype you can think of. To be fair, there were a lot of regular folk too, who were suffering in the stench of stale beer & tobacco fumes. God, I wish that I had the balls to take photos of some of the Fuckwits on display. There would have been enough material to keep an anthropologist working for years.
Fat ********* with little Chel-say & Char-don-ay in tow were well represented, although it was term time & the little ***** should have been in school, & probably the mothers as well. Vest wearing grandpas with perms & fake bling dripping off them littered the place. Why don’t their kids tell them how ******* stupid they look, & that they are risking a kicking from a hoodie, who might just get the idea the bling is real.
Airtours / My Travel must now rate as the worlds No1 **** carrier & are even issuing antisocial behaviour warnings before take off!
Anyway, I was pretty sure that the majority of this septic boil ready to burst on on the face of Europe was not going my way, as my destination is too quiet. Alas, on landing, what should come tumbling onto the baggage conveyor? A full set of matching Burberry luggage, which was hauled off by an old ******** in an Ing-er-lund shirt! A guy next to me muttered that if the bag was his, he would have let it spin round a few times until everyone else had pissed off. Needless to say, the guy was the laughing stock of the airport.
So there you have it, I nominate Manchester airport, as No1 **** exporter to the world. Init!
