Ruinair. Paul Kilduff

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СКАЧАТЬ genuine spring water, neither did it make it clear that it was tap water. The same product was pumped into thousands of homes by Thames Water at a cost to consumers of only o.o6p per litre. This is what is known as a L’eau Fares Airline.

      It’s an inevitable fact of aviation that when people are stuck in a small metal tube for several hours with not much to do, one of the few distractions open to them to pass the time is to look at the cabin crew. The cashiers and shelf-stackers who double as flight attendants have exotic European makey-up unisex names such as Rosalba, Vaida, Danija (email me!), Edyna and Lorana but blondie Beata still remains the happiest crew member I will meet on my extensive travels. Most of the cabin crew appear to still be of schoolgoing age and are bunking off from lessons by having these day jobs. Their job description is to make really sure we don’t want anything to eat or drink. I buy something else for the one-hour flight but the girl leaves me twenty cents short in change. I assume she’ll return with the change but she doesn’t remember or care. I don’t bother asking. Twenty cents from each of their 50 million passengers will add an extra €10 million to their profit. Never in the field of human transportation was so much owed by so few to so many. Before we land we pass any of our rubbish to the crew, thereby becoming the world’s first self-cleaning aircraft.

      There is a programme on BBC where the actor Tony Robinson looks at The Worst Jobs in History. He’s included jobs like Public Executioner, Rat Catcher, Sewer Cleaner and Collector of Bodies during the Bubonic Plague. In the next series he’s looking at working as cabin crew for this airline. This is in contrast to the best jobs in the world, such as coach to the Swedish women’s soccer team or Chief Taster for the Guinness quality assurance team with responsibility for all pubs in the greater Dublin area, who drive vans around Dublin on which locals have handwritten on the side: Emergency Response Unit. Or indeed the easiest jobs in the world, e.g. weather forecaster in southern Spain (er…tomorrow it’s going to be hot).

      However, never dare to confront a member of the Ruinair crew. They might be armed and dangerous. Ruinair once sacked an air hostess who admitted keeping an illegal stun gun at her Strabane home. Sinead McDermott had worked for the airline for four years and was dismissed for gross misconduct and bringing the company into disrepute. The stun gun, which was shown in court, was capable of discharging 500,000 volts and could incapacitate somebody causing localised pain for up to five minutes. The brunette, who appeared in court wearing a low-cut top, skirt and boots, received a 200 hour community service order. McDermott listed the reasons for having the stun gun, saying she had received nuisance phone calls, her car had been burned, she had been followed and she feared for her safety. The resident magistrate said he took into account the fact McDermott had pleaded guilty at the first opportunity, which showed an element of remorse, her clear record and the fact she had lost a ‘good job’ as Ruinair cabin crew.

      France is a country with the same population as the UK and has double the land mass of the UK, yet there is not a single domestic French low fares airline, thanks to the state-sponsored monopoly of Air France. In a war amongst low fares carriers, providing cheap flights to all five corners of France is the last remaining battle yet to be fought. The French countryside is a clichéd patchwork of manicured fields and dense forests but, as widely rumoured, Beauvais airport terminal is a tent. The Departures end has white metal walls and a canvas top which flutters nicely in the soft breeze. This may be the only airport in the world at risk of being closed in the event of high winds, not because aircraft are unable to land, but because the airport blew away. The runway is so basic that the pilot has to execute a u-turn and come back the same way, only to stop as a tiny two-seater Piper aircraft comes across in front. We disembark as the ground staff place a sign saying Dublin on the tarmac for those taking the return trip. It’s unnecessary because there are only two aircraft in the entire airport and all 189 passengers are not going to fit into that Piper. Twenty paces later and we are inside the terminal. Ten more paces and through passport control. Ten more paces to the WC or the baggage carousel, whichever is deemed more urgent. Ten paces to outside. Paris Beauvais airport is closer to the city of Amiens than it is to the French capital, but who would fly to Amiens?

      Paris is the world’s top destination for tourists but it ranks as only the world’s 53rd friendliest city. I admit I have never warmed to the Parisians. They are so annoyingly arrogant about everything. Most locals in any European capital will take the chance to speak a few words of English but Parisians wouldn’t lower themselves. If you have dinner in Paris, the locals excel. They instantly recognise the best dishes on the menu and ask the sommelier if he knows which side of the hill the Pinot Noir grapes were grown on. As you dine on the finest food, they will find something to criticise. And all this from a nation who gladly dine on horses, snails and frogs. And every two years we dare to visit them at Stade de France when their brutal rugby team administers a regular thrashing to our brave boys in green (we have won once in 35 years). The only redeeming feature about the French in general is that they cannot manufacture a decent motor car for love or money. P.G. Wodehouse conceded that the French invented the only known cure for dandruff, called the Guillotine.

      There is a bus to Paris but the fare costs more than the flight and the duration of the bus journey is longer than the duration of the flight. I could hire a car today but I have seen too much of Parisian driving skills to risk that option. When you buy a new car in Paris you must go out on the first day with a claw hammer and knock lots of dents and holes in the side of the car, because if you don’t, some other lunatic driver will do it for you in a 2CV the next day. I enquire at the airport information desk about taking a local bus into the town.

      One of the girls points outside. ‘Voila, ze bus.’

      I almost get on the bus but I check first. ‘To Beauvais?’

      She shakes her head. ‘Non. A Paris.’

      I stand my ground. ‘I want to go to Beauvais.’

      She turns to her colleague. ‘Il veut aller a Beauvais.’ Incredulity. They stare as if I’m on day release.

      I persevere. ‘The bus?’

      Much shaking of heads. ‘No bus. Rien.’

      I’m sure there’s a bus. ‘Not on a Sunday?’ I ask.

      ‘Jamais, jamais. Taxi.’

      Beauvais is the capital of the Oise region of Picardy and has 60,000 inhabitants. The Hotel le Chenal is in the town centre. It’s not a three-star hotel, it’s the three-star hotel. I once stayed in a two-star hotel but I broke out into a rash at the lack of stars, and I once stayed in a hotel where the maid did not fold the toilet roll into a nice point daily so I checked out immediately. This hotel offers typical French hospitality. It takes me ten minutes to convince the duty manager I have a reservation, not that I want to make one. He fumes behind the counter and utters his first words of a genuine French welcome. ‘You pay me eighty euro now.’ It’s fairly quiet here. If ten more guests check in, that’ll make eleven in all.

      The manager asks me if I want breakfast. I tell him that it’s the most important meal of the day and of course I do, since I have paid for it, but then I realise he’s only determining if he needs to employ a chef. My room overlooks the train station. There are exotic lights outside which change from red to amber to green and back. The bath is diamond-shaped, too big for one. I saw the same bath in a documentary I was forced to watch on a brothel in the Nevada desert. I accidentally stumble upon filth on the TV. Channel 17 features Priscilla upon a chaise longue, who has a compulsion to slowly undress. I am shocked. This sort of stuff should only be shown on pay TV. After her comes Natalia. Then Eva. Olga. Maria. Claudia. Etc.

      The history of Beauvais is as potted as shrimps. In 1357 a peasant revolt began here, the Jacquerie. History shows me that the peasants are always revolting: poor dental hygiene, inappropriate СКАЧАТЬ