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25-08-2023, 07:36
Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2023/08/humberside.html)
This is going to be a new experience. We’ve had to change airports again for visiting Newark.
First East Midlands stopped having flights to Amsterdam. Then, after Flybe went bust, Doncaster airport closed. Where the hell do we fly to now? Stansted and take a train? My brother Dave came up with a suggestion: Humberside.
“Where the hell is that?” I asked him.
“Half way between Scunthorpe and Grimsby.”
“In the classy part of Lincolnshire, then.”
“KLM flies there.”
That’s what I wanted to hear. I can earn some airmiles. And, even better, XP points. Enough to secure me gold status again next year.
“How do we get from there to Newark?”
“A taxi. It costs 90 quid and takes an hour.”
“That’s not too bad. Certainly, better than fucking around on a train from Stansted.”
Our flight isn’t until 17:00. Making it a fairly relaxed day. We jump into a taxi quite early, around 13:30. For two reasons: you never know how crowded Schiphol will be in the summer; I want to get in some decent lounge time.
Schiphol is surprisingly queue-free. Both at security and passport control. It’s just minutes before I’m in the duty free with a bottle of whisky in my hand. No need for miniatures, as we’ll be in the air for under an hour.
Me and Andrew go to the lounge bar while Lexie loads up on food. I have my normal Bourbon and Scotch combination. The kids go for Pils.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd4OkwAkSMfeqAjSHO8FKV_hlLE9R3SF4nNz_HFdaJeK YOT6pqNtYbrkxgbym7PhUOAIRrwm5SwsKyw2uf6YWba2G5RqWu 2P-HIaVJdntEX_bVb9TB9tmesEzmFxYFN3tlSotpd2HwM0JlXvtOH VKsKEcbRSW3XkcXTko9MY6_e4wPq1ayo0HfZJx7aRU/w640-h480/my_nibbles.jpg (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd4OkwAkSMfeqAjSHO8FKV_hlLE9R3SF4nNz_HFdaJeK YOT6pqNtYbrkxgbym7PhUOAIRrwm5SwsKyw2uf6YWba2G5RqWu 2P-HIaVJdntEX_bVb9TB9tmesEzmFxYFN3tlSotpd2HwM0JlXvtOH VKsKEcbRSW3XkcXTko9MY6_e4wPq1ayo0HfZJx7aRU/s4000/my_nibbles.jpg)
I get myself a few nibbles while Andrew concentrates on his beer.
“They’ve got hot dogs.” Lexie announces.
He brings one back smothered in ketchup and mustard. It makes me feel a little sick. I’ll just not look at him while he eats it.
Andrew finally gives in ands gets some food. A cheese roll.
“Don’t stuff yourself too much, Andrew. Leave room for the chips.”
“Fuck off, Dad.”
He isn’t struggling with the beer. He’s knocked back half a dozen, at least.
When he gets up to return to the bar, I ask him: “Can you get me two whiskies, please.”
“Dad, don’t go crazy. I’m just getting you one.”
Great. He’s acting as my nanny now.
“When did I ever go crazy?”
“Lots of times, Dad. Let’s not have this discussion again.”
He brings me back a sad little single of Bourbon. At least he remembered to get it without ice.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBhiLzQNe1-OeyKJx2S15qTJ4R0N4bC4QJD887MDL9eIYZOESntjRBTTs48sl fsYtm9hLEHkqZmpjklFmMJv2nxgVckubTdLltqs9kKbYwz8qvN K8ZL29UzBh87xGoRHHB45rKThxu85YVob8ipJ-3pvMqiMrN5EVpcjvH_ItSvv39hF71fwbzfHG3vo/w640-h514/creepy_dustbin.jpg (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBhiLzQNe1-OeyKJx2S15qTJ4R0N4bC4QJD887MDL9eIYZOESntjRBTTs48sl fsYtm9hLEHkqZmpjklFmMJv2nxgVckubTdLltqs9kKbYwz8qvN K8ZL29UzBh87xGoRHHB45rKThxu85YVob8ipJ-3pvMqiMrN5EVpcjvH_ItSvv39hF71fwbzfHG3vo/s4020/creepy_dustbin.jpg)
A new feature of the lounge are creepy dustbins that creep up to your table and demand your plates and cutlery. But when you try to dump stuff on it, it swerves away at the last minute. Now that’s not going to piss people off.
We chomp and munch at a leisurely rate. And are just about to drink and eat up, when the board shows our flight delayed for thirty minutes.
“Time for another drink, kids.”
I go to the bar with Andrew this time. To make sure I get the brace of whiskies. After taking a sip from one glass, I absentmindedly tip it into the other.
“Dad. You just mixed Bourbon with Scotch.”
Thinking quickly to cover my mistake: “Yes. It’s the fashion now.”
Alexei buts in: “Don’t talk bollocks, Dad.”
“That’s a charming way to talk to your father.”
“Don’t talk rubbish, then.”
“That would take all the fun out of chatting with you.”
“You’re pathetic.”
It’s a bit of a walk to our gate. Over on D pier. It takes a while to get there. Enough for Andrew to start panicking a little.
“It’s still 30 minutes before departure and I’ve checked in a bag. No way they’re leaving without us.” I reassure him. He doesn’t look convinced.
Boarding is already underway. Which, in this case, means sitting on a bus for ten minutes before being driven to the plane.
It’s just a short hop. Up and then straight back down again.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeiW4DWFsXxTIu5LEp0Z9tco1tEAATK9AwhaJoBdPrUs MtC_U7zWvZzzv0J_rSyoa8jGG_WfgcE-E_QT_31YahdjN2nbak27aXIQ189HomDXfpkxfBkLw2cAJ6nE48 C4pVQS3wi1oA2EjELD02l43AU3R2b-ssamXMfu97njINqC2cBC-vBpNrF5cUQho/w640-h436/Humberside_airport.jpg (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeiW4DWFsXxTIu5LEp0Z9tco1tEAATK9AwhaJoBdPrUs MtC_U7zWvZzzv0J_rSyoa8jGG_WfgcE-E_QT_31YahdjN2nbak27aXIQ189HomDXfpkxfBkLw2cAJ6nE48 C4pVQS3wi1oA2EjELD02l43AU3R2b-ssamXMfu97njINqC2cBC-vBpNrF5cUQho/s4022/Humberside_airport.jpg)
Humberside is even smaller than Doncaster. Which is great. After a quick call to the taxi company, we’re off to historic Newark. As the town always bills itself.
On the way, our driver tells us that the nightclub in the Corn Exchange, after being closed for a while due to a stabbing incident. I can’t say I’m surprised. The town is full of nutters. As only small towns can be. In absolute numbers, there might be more of them in Nottingham. But relative to population, I’m sure Newark wins, hands down.
Dave has left the gate open and the taxi can pull into his drive.
After saying hello to Dave and dumping our bags, we head to the chip shop. Which is literally next door. Dave’s house having originally been built by a former owner of the chippie.
No beef and onion pies, unfortunately. Andrew and I make do with steak and kidney. Alexei gets a piece of haddock almost as long as his arm. Plus, peas all round and a large bag of chips. It costs just shy of twenty quid. Not bad for a huge pile of food.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJCaxtMA0rHImSYY4PTwYNMZbBV7Ccf1V4T4l65eHGK 5KTV2E25FytiVB1-W5KqIy-rmoP90e_bICY_tiVKcYyMJtw9zQGLqoLXKcPEkWbE9MyGpcRhl Y2o6HFfSEp3ulyFMbZiATgAhcp5C8qi3yCsbu-7RtxO45PvyttYKVqyOyfc4YnQGAy1zXSX8/w640-h480/chip_mountain.jpg (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJCaxtMA0rHImSYY4PTwYNMZbBV7Ccf1V4T4l65eHGK 5KTV2E25FytiVB1-W5KqIy-rmoP90e_bICY_tiVKcYyMJtw9zQGLqoLXKcPEkWbE9MyGpcRhl Y2o6HFfSEp3ulyFMbZiATgAhcp5C8qi3yCsbu-7RtxO45PvyttYKVqyOyfc4YnQGAy1zXSX8/s4000/chip_mountain.jpg)
The chip portions are enormous. I was brave getting a large one for just three of us. Despite them being delicious, we can’t finish the lot. The peas are pretty disappointing. Fluorescent green and like mashed-up garden peas.
There’s beer to go with the food. Henry, a friend from school who owns a brewery (Cat Asylum (http://cat-asylum.com/)) has brought a firkin. A Dunkles, in this case.
It’s rather lively. When Dave hammers in the tap, beer spurts all over. Just as well he has it over a sink.
Once the froth has settled in the glass, it’s rather lovely, too. Quite like a Dark Mild.
I’ve been pleasantly surprised by Henry’s beers. He had no brewing experience and just a few days of help from a professional brewer to work himself in.
The kids head off to Sainsbury’s to get some cider. Even though there’s free beer on offer. Though, come to think of it, as they’re paying with my money, the cider is free for them, too.
We sit around and chat with Dave. He finally has internet at home and the kids can show him some stuff from Youtube.
I try not to go to bed too late. We need to be up at a reasonable time to catch our train to Leeds. Which is at 10:48. The kids are still up when I turn in.
More... (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2023/08/humberside.html)
This is going to be a new experience. We’ve had to change airports again for visiting Newark.
First East Midlands stopped having flights to Amsterdam. Then, after Flybe went bust, Doncaster airport closed. Where the hell do we fly to now? Stansted and take a train? My brother Dave came up with a suggestion: Humberside.
“Where the hell is that?” I asked him.
“Half way between Scunthorpe and Grimsby.”
“In the classy part of Lincolnshire, then.”
“KLM flies there.”
That’s what I wanted to hear. I can earn some airmiles. And, even better, XP points. Enough to secure me gold status again next year.
“How do we get from there to Newark?”
“A taxi. It costs 90 quid and takes an hour.”
“That’s not too bad. Certainly, better than fucking around on a train from Stansted.”
Our flight isn’t until 17:00. Making it a fairly relaxed day. We jump into a taxi quite early, around 13:30. For two reasons: you never know how crowded Schiphol will be in the summer; I want to get in some decent lounge time.
Schiphol is surprisingly queue-free. Both at security and passport control. It’s just minutes before I’m in the duty free with a bottle of whisky in my hand. No need for miniatures, as we’ll be in the air for under an hour.
Me and Andrew go to the lounge bar while Lexie loads up on food. I have my normal Bourbon and Scotch combination. The kids go for Pils.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd4OkwAkSMfeqAjSHO8FKV_hlLE9R3SF4nNz_HFdaJeK YOT6pqNtYbrkxgbym7PhUOAIRrwm5SwsKyw2uf6YWba2G5RqWu 2P-HIaVJdntEX_bVb9TB9tmesEzmFxYFN3tlSotpd2HwM0JlXvtOH VKsKEcbRSW3XkcXTko9MY6_e4wPq1ayo0HfZJx7aRU/w640-h480/my_nibbles.jpg (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd4OkwAkSMfeqAjSHO8FKV_hlLE9R3SF4nNz_HFdaJeK YOT6pqNtYbrkxgbym7PhUOAIRrwm5SwsKyw2uf6YWba2G5RqWu 2P-HIaVJdntEX_bVb9TB9tmesEzmFxYFN3tlSotpd2HwM0JlXvtOH VKsKEcbRSW3XkcXTko9MY6_e4wPq1ayo0HfZJx7aRU/s4000/my_nibbles.jpg)
I get myself a few nibbles while Andrew concentrates on his beer.
“They’ve got hot dogs.” Lexie announces.
He brings one back smothered in ketchup and mustard. It makes me feel a little sick. I’ll just not look at him while he eats it.
Andrew finally gives in ands gets some food. A cheese roll.
“Don’t stuff yourself too much, Andrew. Leave room for the chips.”
“Fuck off, Dad.”
He isn’t struggling with the beer. He’s knocked back half a dozen, at least.
When he gets up to return to the bar, I ask him: “Can you get me two whiskies, please.”
“Dad, don’t go crazy. I’m just getting you one.”
Great. He’s acting as my nanny now.
“When did I ever go crazy?”
“Lots of times, Dad. Let’s not have this discussion again.”
He brings me back a sad little single of Bourbon. At least he remembered to get it without ice.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBhiLzQNe1-OeyKJx2S15qTJ4R0N4bC4QJD887MDL9eIYZOESntjRBTTs48sl fsYtm9hLEHkqZmpjklFmMJv2nxgVckubTdLltqs9kKbYwz8qvN K8ZL29UzBh87xGoRHHB45rKThxu85YVob8ipJ-3pvMqiMrN5EVpcjvH_ItSvv39hF71fwbzfHG3vo/w640-h514/creepy_dustbin.jpg (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBhiLzQNe1-OeyKJx2S15qTJ4R0N4bC4QJD887MDL9eIYZOESntjRBTTs48sl fsYtm9hLEHkqZmpjklFmMJv2nxgVckubTdLltqs9kKbYwz8qvN K8ZL29UzBh87xGoRHHB45rKThxu85YVob8ipJ-3pvMqiMrN5EVpcjvH_ItSvv39hF71fwbzfHG3vo/s4020/creepy_dustbin.jpg)
A new feature of the lounge are creepy dustbins that creep up to your table and demand your plates and cutlery. But when you try to dump stuff on it, it swerves away at the last minute. Now that’s not going to piss people off.
We chomp and munch at a leisurely rate. And are just about to drink and eat up, when the board shows our flight delayed for thirty minutes.
“Time for another drink, kids.”
I go to the bar with Andrew this time. To make sure I get the brace of whiskies. After taking a sip from one glass, I absentmindedly tip it into the other.
“Dad. You just mixed Bourbon with Scotch.”
Thinking quickly to cover my mistake: “Yes. It’s the fashion now.”
Alexei buts in: “Don’t talk bollocks, Dad.”
“That’s a charming way to talk to your father.”
“Don’t talk rubbish, then.”
“That would take all the fun out of chatting with you.”
“You’re pathetic.”
It’s a bit of a walk to our gate. Over on D pier. It takes a while to get there. Enough for Andrew to start panicking a little.
“It’s still 30 minutes before departure and I’ve checked in a bag. No way they’re leaving without us.” I reassure him. He doesn’t look convinced.
Boarding is already underway. Which, in this case, means sitting on a bus for ten minutes before being driven to the plane.
It’s just a short hop. Up and then straight back down again.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeiW4DWFsXxTIu5LEp0Z9tco1tEAATK9AwhaJoBdPrUs MtC_U7zWvZzzv0J_rSyoa8jGG_WfgcE-E_QT_31YahdjN2nbak27aXIQ189HomDXfpkxfBkLw2cAJ6nE48 C4pVQS3wi1oA2EjELD02l43AU3R2b-ssamXMfu97njINqC2cBC-vBpNrF5cUQho/w640-h436/Humberside_airport.jpg (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeiW4DWFsXxTIu5LEp0Z9tco1tEAATK9AwhaJoBdPrUs MtC_U7zWvZzzv0J_rSyoa8jGG_WfgcE-E_QT_31YahdjN2nbak27aXIQ189HomDXfpkxfBkLw2cAJ6nE48 C4pVQS3wi1oA2EjELD02l43AU3R2b-ssamXMfu97njINqC2cBC-vBpNrF5cUQho/s4022/Humberside_airport.jpg)
Humberside is even smaller than Doncaster. Which is great. After a quick call to the taxi company, we’re off to historic Newark. As the town always bills itself.
On the way, our driver tells us that the nightclub in the Corn Exchange, after being closed for a while due to a stabbing incident. I can’t say I’m surprised. The town is full of nutters. As only small towns can be. In absolute numbers, there might be more of them in Nottingham. But relative to population, I’m sure Newark wins, hands down.
Dave has left the gate open and the taxi can pull into his drive.
After saying hello to Dave and dumping our bags, we head to the chip shop. Which is literally next door. Dave’s house having originally been built by a former owner of the chippie.
No beef and onion pies, unfortunately. Andrew and I make do with steak and kidney. Alexei gets a piece of haddock almost as long as his arm. Plus, peas all round and a large bag of chips. It costs just shy of twenty quid. Not bad for a huge pile of food.
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJCaxtMA0rHImSYY4PTwYNMZbBV7Ccf1V4T4l65eHGK 5KTV2E25FytiVB1-W5KqIy-rmoP90e_bICY_tiVKcYyMJtw9zQGLqoLXKcPEkWbE9MyGpcRhl Y2o6HFfSEp3ulyFMbZiATgAhcp5C8qi3yCsbu-7RtxO45PvyttYKVqyOyfc4YnQGAy1zXSX8/w640-h480/chip_mountain.jpg (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJCaxtMA0rHImSYY4PTwYNMZbBV7Ccf1V4T4l65eHGK 5KTV2E25FytiVB1-W5KqIy-rmoP90e_bICY_tiVKcYyMJtw9zQGLqoLXKcPEkWbE9MyGpcRhl Y2o6HFfSEp3ulyFMbZiATgAhcp5C8qi3yCsbu-7RtxO45PvyttYKVqyOyfc4YnQGAy1zXSX8/s4000/chip_mountain.jpg)
The chip portions are enormous. I was brave getting a large one for just three of us. Despite them being delicious, we can’t finish the lot. The peas are pretty disappointing. Fluorescent green and like mashed-up garden peas.
There’s beer to go with the food. Henry, a friend from school who owns a brewery (Cat Asylum (http://cat-asylum.com/)) has brought a firkin. A Dunkles, in this case.
It’s rather lively. When Dave hammers in the tap, beer spurts all over. Just as well he has it over a sink.
Once the froth has settled in the glass, it’s rather lovely, too. Quite like a Dark Mild.
I’ve been pleasantly surprised by Henry’s beers. He had no brewing experience and just a few days of help from a professional brewer to work himself in.
The kids head off to Sainsbury’s to get some cider. Even though there’s free beer on offer. Though, come to think of it, as they’re paying with my money, the cider is free for them, too.
We sit around and chat with Dave. He finally has internet at home and the kids can show him some stuff from Youtube.
I try not to go to bed too late. We need to be up at a reasonable time to catch our train to Leeds. Which is at 10:48. The kids are still up when I turn in.
More... (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2023/08/humberside.html)