Oldsters might recall Brian Redhead, doyen of the Today programme in the 1980s until his untimely death. A regular commuter between Manchester and London, he would occasionally murmur a reference to the mysterious Friends of the M6. An unlovely motorway, it needed all the friends it could muster. Among motorway afficionados, a select group admittedly, the M11 probably garners more votes. Its destinations are more alluring and the scenery, once past the suburban penumbra encircling London, more rural. So having elected to drive rather than train it to Stansted, speeding away from the dogdays of the Olympics along an empty motorway induced pleasant pre-holiday spirits. Airports have even fewer admirers than motorways but it's generally agreed that Stansted is the least objectionable of the southeastern gateways and enjoying a latte in the sunshine it seems scarcely worth bothering going anyway else.
To pass the time during my obsessionally early arrival, we played the country game. You get one point for each country you've visited which the other person hasn't. If there are high stakes, it can be refined: five points for a continent and so on. Competent geopolitical bluffing is the key to winning. I managed to argue that Jersey counted as a separate country, but failed with the Isle of Dogs, despite a learned account of the 1970s attempt at UDI. I was outclassed anyway; streaking ahead on the Nordics, it was clear I'd be thrashed once we got to Asia.
Indolence had prevented me from finding out much about Tallinn before departure but I was determined not to believe the stereotype that it was simply the new stag party capital, cheap flights having penetrated ever deeper into Europe passing the mantle from Dublin to Prague and no doubt others. So I was mildly offended when the opening remark of the friendly Estonian seated next to me on the plane was to enquire whether I was going to Tallinn to drink. Denying this, and enquiring what he'd been doing in London elicited a one word answer. "Drinking."
© David Thompson 2012
To pass the time during my obsessionally early arrival, we played the country game. You get one point for each country you've visited which the other person hasn't. If there are high stakes, it can be refined: five points for a continent and so on. Competent geopolitical bluffing is the key to winning. I managed to argue that Jersey counted as a separate country, but failed with the Isle of Dogs, despite a learned account of the 1970s attempt at UDI. I was outclassed anyway; streaking ahead on the Nordics, it was clear I'd be thrashed once we got to Asia.
Indolence had prevented me from finding out much about Tallinn before departure but I was determined not to believe the stereotype that it was simply the new stag party capital, cheap flights having penetrated ever deeper into Europe passing the mantle from Dublin to Prague and no doubt others. So I was mildly offended when the opening remark of the friendly Estonian seated next to me on the plane was to enquire whether I was going to Tallinn to drink. Denying this, and enquiring what he'd been doing in London elicited a one word answer. "Drinking."
© David Thompson 2012
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