Fat Elvis | Wednesday, December 21, 2005 |
Sydney airport is in many respects quite like Stanstead. It's relatively modern and when compared to Heathrow or O'Hare, quite quiet. Check in took a while due to a seeming lack of counter staff. Those that were there seemed to spend a disporportiate amount of time on a couple who were required to write their entire story before they could check their luggage.
Nevertheless, we eventually got our luggage checked and past through to customs where it reminded me of Moscow airport the first time I went there. About six thousand people all milling around waiting for the three or four out of twenty aisles to come free.
In itself the wait would not have been to bad until we were joined by fat Elvis and his equally porcine wife. I'm not being discriminatory (well, that's obviously not true), but the pair of them were eating what Gillian later described as "a Calzone filled with shit".
I think they were probably wraps of some kind but they were giving off strong fatty kind of mayonaisse odours. Then add to this eating sounds similar to those eminating from rutting pigs and you get quite a picture. Finally, include regular jostling from the graceless lack of balance and co-ordination that you'd associate with with a fat guy wearing that many soverign rings and a pair of what I can only assume where gold novelty glasses - they type of thing rejected by Elton John as being too naff.
In fact, the only thing in their favour was that weren't English. I did try to find them again so I could get a sneaky picture but was unsuccessful so you'll just have to use your imagination.
Nevertheless, we eventually got our luggage checked and past through to customs where it reminded me of Moscow airport the first time I went there. About six thousand people all milling around waiting for the three or four out of twenty aisles to come free.
In itself the wait would not have been to bad until we were joined by fat Elvis and his equally porcine wife. I'm not being discriminatory (well, that's obviously not true), but the pair of them were eating what Gillian later described as "a Calzone filled with shit".
I think they were probably wraps of some kind but they were giving off strong fatty kind of mayonaisse odours. Then add to this eating sounds similar to those eminating from rutting pigs and you get quite a picture. Finally, include regular jostling from the graceless lack of balance and co-ordination that you'd associate with with a fat guy wearing that many soverign rings and a pair of what I can only assume where gold novelty glasses - they type of thing rejected by Elton John as being too naff.
In fact, the only thing in their favour was that weren't English. I did try to find them again so I could get a sneaky picture but was unsuccessful so you'll just have to use your imagination.
