Tag: holidays

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English Water Torture

nataliegist

swimming underwater diving person
Photo by Roman Pohorecki on Pexels.com

Every month I am relieved of nearly sixty pounds.   Depending on the number of children that they have, other parents who go to the same leisure centre as me are also relieved of upwards of twenty pounds a month per child.  For this I and they get the exceedingly dubious pleasure of escorting their Chillderbeasts to their swimming lessons each and every week.

I have been taking my Childerbeasts swimming since they were tiny, with me actually having to go into the pool with them at that time because four month old babies going swimming themselves is apparently not recommended  For those of you who remain blissfully unaware, getting ready to take a baby swimming is another job in itself before you even get near the pool if you are a woman (see The Thigh’s the Limit if you are in any doubt as to what I am referring).  I was usually sweating and stressed out before I even got to the front door.

Now when you take your children swimming when they are very small, it is a double-edged sword.  You are getting them used to the water so they will never remember they were frightened when they start actual lessons, if they ever were; tick.  The water is usually freezing cold; cross.  And causes their little lips to go blue; cross.  So you leap about even more enthusiastically to try and warm them up; tick.  But when you eventually give in and get out they throw a tantrum and kick their little legs up and down because they were having a lovely time; cross.  But they are also now starving; cross.  And their swim nappy needs some attention; cross.  Then you have to stand sopping wet and rather cold whilst you dry an upset and wriggly child.  Once they are dry, the changing rooms are usually so disgusting that you don’t want your child to touch anything, let alone put their hands in their mouths and everything, absolutely everything has a pointy edge just asking for a head to be bumped on it .  We all know how much children listen to being told not to do things, so the only thing to do is to put your dry clothes on your cold and wet body, pick up your child, and leave.  Remember, you are paying for this.

When they get bigger, it’s a whole new circle of hell.  First, assuming that you have got into the changing rooms past the ridiculous turnstiles (who would infiltrate the local leisure centre?  Who?) you have to get the recalcitrant child into their swimming attire.  That’s like trying to nail jelly to the wall.  Then, in spite of you having asked them before they got undressed if they needed to go, and they catageorically denied it, they need a wee.  So they take it all off again.  In the festering and disgusting pit that is the changing room toilet.  It is never any different in any leisure centre I have ever been in.  Why is the person who uses the loo before you in a swimming pool changing room utterly incapable of a) getting their urine into the toilet b) getting the toilet paper into the toilet and c) flushing it?  It’s not difficult.  I assume that they do it at home.  Once I had to report a used tampon on the floor of said toilet to a very distressed looking member of staff.  I had not specified what horror they were likely to find because I could not bring myself to utter the words, so utterly incredulous was I that someone would be so monstrous.  I had merely suggested that the toilet might need some attention and that was sufficient to strike the fear of God into them.  After somehow controlling an almost uncontrollable desire to disinfect everything,  you note that the changing rooms now seem to be at a temperature that is hotter than the surface of the sun, and the swimming hat has yet to go on.

For reasons not even known to myself, last year, I volunteered to go swimming with the school.  I picked up a top tip from one of the children for putting on a swimming hat during that time and I pass it onto you.  The adult holds the hat open.  Hold it firmly and face the open part towards the child.  The child, with hair up if necessary, then runs full pelt and head-first at the open hat.  In one swift movement, as the child’s head goes into the hat, the adult releases the hat, steps to one side and the child has to either stop running or hit the wall.  Either way, they are now wearing a swimming hat.

Just when you thought you were ready to advance on the pool,  you have to tackle the damned goggles.  Goggles are viewed by children like food; what was acceptable last week, or even the day before, could cause great offence this week. So the goggles fitted and did not let the water in last week.  Today is quite the opposite.  The goggles are re-adjusted and put on.  You then gratefully release your child into the care of their swimming teacher for twenty five minutes or until they decide they need another wee, whichever comes first.

You make you way to the viewing area where, in spite of the cacophony, you will note that your child is listening, that’s right, I said listening, to their teacher. And not only are they listening, they are showing all of the signs of doing as they have been asked.  As you sit there, gently perspiring, sporting your shoe covers and the unpleasant feeling of damp around your ankles from the bottom of your jeans getting wet, you think of all of the places you’d rather be; a yacht, a beach, the dentist…and you remember that you’re actually paying for this.

At the end of the lesson, you collect your child and join the queue for the showers.  Now, builders of leisure centres, I want to talk to you so listen up.  In my extensive experience, it is generally mothers who take their children swimming.  Now we could get into a very long and detailed discussion as to why mothers generally take their children swimming, which I am more than happy to do.  But we both know that it ain’t going to change anytime soon.  When our children are small they come into the changing rooms with us.  Trust me, we do not enjoy the experience; we accompany our children because we are their mothers and that is our job.   So what you could do is provide more showers.  They’re not that expensive and it sure as hell would make a difference to us.  Thank you for your attention.

When you eventually get your child into the shower, you then have the very thorny issue of getting the little bugger out.  You will stand there telling them to rub the shampoo in.  You will insist that they put their head under the stream rather than standing with their bum poking in the water and their head poking out.  You will, in very clipped tones, invite them to stop filling their swimming hat with water.  Every week you will eventually make a plea to their better nature and point out that there are other children still waiting so could they please speed up.  Eventually, you bring the big guns out and tell them that if they don’t get out of the shower you will cancel computer time/not let them have some chocolate/never feed them again.

They won’t dry their legs before they put their pants on.  You will ask.  You will ask every week.  You’re wasting your breath.  Every other mother in the changing area knows it because they were standing in the shower with you when their child was also filling up their swimming hat with water instead of having a wash.  They won’t dry their hair off either because what would a Childerbeast have to complain about if it wasn’t for wet hair dripping down their back?  Oh that’s right – they’re hungry again.  Eventually, in a timespan that feels geological, you leave.  Safe in the knowledge that you will go through the very same ordeal in precisely seven day’s time.

In some years from now you will be on that beach.  Slathered in factor fifty you will look up from your book to see your Childerbeast sploshing about in the sea.  Before you sat down you assessed the distance between your sunlounger and the sea and you already know that the distance is such that if you had to run to get there, you could.  The distance is now one hundred metres rather than one hundred millimetres.  So for now you can watch them from where you are.  They will marvel at the fish they can see whilst snorkelling.  They will shout “Mummy, look at me” as they leap in for the millionth time.  You may even hire a boat or go on a trip which involves everyone throwing themselves overboard and swimming to the beach for a visit to a local taverna.  And as you sip on your cool drink, you will lean back, sigh and think to yourself “I have most certainly, most definitely, and without a shadow of a doubt, paid for this”

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Fly Maybe

nataliegist

The Rescuers

I expect that Flybe are hoping that today might be a good day to bury bad news.  If you can negotiate your way through all of General Election gubbins, you may stumble across an article that says that Flybe is promising an overhaul after posting a twenty million pound loss. That’s a big number isn’t it?  It is reported that they are going to turn the business around by reducing the size of their fleet due to a slowing growth in consumer demand. That sounds measured and sensible.  I might be able to help them with some suggestions because I had the misfortune of flying with Flybe for the first time last week.

It was a week last Saturday, which was also on a day that was a good day to bury bad news because whilst me and a hundred or so other people were sat twiddling our thumbs at Birmingham Airport, thousands of people were ensnared in the BA balls up.  Our delay had nothing to do with the BA thing.  Nothing.  Our delay, both outbound and inbound was due to complete and utter incompetence. Not that the BA thing wasn’t.  It is just that this incompetence was not related to that.  So before you book your holiday avoiding BA but plumping for Flybe, just read to the end.  Please.

Our flight was due to take off at 11.15am.  The plane was on the tarmac.  Later than expected, but nothing too awful, we boarded a bus to be taken to the plane.  The doors were closed.  And we were kept on the bus for half an hour.  The doors then opened and we were deposited back at the gate.  For five hours. For about four hours, we were told nothing.  The screens were not updated (although they kept taunting us with promises to update) and not one member of staff appeared.  In desperation I took to Twitter, and was told a load of rubbish by whoever picks up their messages. My travel agent was trying to obtain information and was also told a load of piffle.  I asked via Twitter for everyone to be updated.  Nothing.  When it all became too taxing for them, I mean, we were only customers; radio silence.

After about four and a half hours, a Member of Staff appeared at a desk and was deluged.  A lot of people had drifted away from the gate, so were not a party to what was being said, and no one appeared to have thought that updating all passengers was important, so only those within earshot got the information.  Member of Staff then walked down the gate and Man of the House stopped her asked her what was going on. She advised that thirty four people were not able to get on the plane.  She had asked people to queue up (those in the siege who had heard this had indeed already done so) and the last thirty four people to do so would not be leaving Birmingham on that flight.  Man of the House queried this and asked if she was seriously suggesting that people fight their way to the front, children fighting adults for their place.  Her response?  Without pausing for breath she confirmed that was the case and that was why she had asked the police to attend.  She then gestured to two police officers.  And we all know that police officers have absolutely nothing better to do at the moment, so I imagine that they were particularly pleased to be there. It is difficult to describe the expression of Man of the House at this point, but I suspect that it is the same as yours right now.

When it came to boarding (bearing in mind that only those people who had already formed the queue and Man of the House because he had made a direct enquiry had a clue what was going on), Member of Staff announced to those within earshot that those with ferry connections and (possibly after having had the opportunity to reflect) those with children, were permitted onto the plane first.  I am not able to comment on the scene after that as I was fortunate enough to be on the plane, trying to calm my now near-hysterical daughter.  I did, however, speak to the last person to get on the plane.  She said that seeing that the plane was boarding, people had started to queue up.  The Member of Staff had then put her hand behind her back and told the people behind her to stop.  The last lady on the plane had no idea why that had happened until she got on the plane, the people behind her had no idea why either.

When we got on the plane we were told the truth. The crew had been told that twenty or so people would be getting on the plane that morning.  All the weight/fuel calculations were done on that basis. The crew were then told it was over one hundred people and at that point the plane would be too heavy to have everyone on, even just to be on the tarmac.  Apparently the people who could remove the necessary amount of fuel from the plane at Birmingham Airport don’t work weekends, and it would seem that Flybe were fresh out of ideas, not that they had any in the first place.

So, we took off five and a half hours late.  But we were the lucky ones.  Thirty four people were left in the terminal.  I understand that they left Birmingham Airport at ten o’clock at night.  Thirteen hours after they were supposed to.  They were twenty minutes from their destination when the destination airport advised that they closed at midnight and the plane could not land.  They were diverted to Athens.  Seven hours away from their destination by road.  Checking even the most basic of information and procedures does not seem to be a priority for Flybe.

Hoping for the best but expecting the worst, we were also delayed on the inbound flight.  Three and a half hours this time.  I knew when we checked in because a fellow passenger had ascertained that the flight coming from Birmingham hadn’t even taken off.  Back I went to Twitter.  Apparently staff sickness was the issue.  Is Flybe so thin on the ground for staff that if someone calls in sick they have no plan to deal with it?  We were given no other information in the airport, except from holiday reps desperately trying to find things out, just as we were, and none of the information they were given was accurate.  Feeling every so slightly tetchy, my sarcasm was now getting the better of me and I suggested to Flybe on Twitter that perhaps we should just have a passenger sweepstake on guessing a time for take off, given that they had no idea when their own plane would be arriving.

Eventually we did leave.  Turns out that that staff sickness crap, was just that, crap.  The plane had gone in for its service and came out late to the crew, hence it being late taking off from Birmingham and that being the knock-on effect.

Flybe, I would suggest that the decrease in your customer demand is because the dreadful way you treat your customers is causing them to shop elsewhere.  Your routes are loss-making because of the vast amount of compensation that you have to pay out to people due to your inability to organise your own schedule, a steadfast refusal to communicate with your customers and the way in which you insult their intelligence with “the dog ate my homework” types of excuses on the occasions when you do.  If you have profit-making routes, I suspect it is because they are sufficiently short distances for the compensation to be in the lower band provided for by the EU legislation for you to financially get away with paying the compensation and still make a profit.  However, if you don’t put your house in order, and sharpish, you won’t survive because all of your routes will be loss-making.  People work hard for their money; their time and their holidays are precious to them and they will choose not to spend it with your company.  If you continue to treat your customers with such contempt when they are simply expecting the service that they have paid for, and which you have promised, your business will not, and does not deserve, to survive.

 

 

 

 

 

Picture: The Rescuers – Walt Disney Animated Classics