I'm too tired to behave badly this time around.
By some strange act of cultural metamorphosis, everybody in Stansted Airport is Italian. When you walk through the sliding doors at check-in, some invisible screening system assesses you for potential Italianness (75% automatically if your shoes and belt are coordinated). The second set of doors coats you with a temporary Italian wash (you can choose the region).
Passengers go in 'awright mayte?', 'Och you numpty', 'ohne sahne, bitte' and come out 'ciao biondina...', 'mamma mia'.... 'mangia da pizza'...*
Grungy-looking backpacks are transformed into Versace leather, ordinary bleary-eyed British boys become sultry sloe-eyed southerners. Instantly, a pair of Armani sunglasses is perched on top of every pristine haircut.
Cultural crisis reigns supreme at the pastry counter: is it brioche? is it croissant? what on earth is a mocha light?.
Wouldn't it be good if this transformation applied to the personnel as well?
Instead of 'I'm sorry we can't let you through with that', it'd be 'Avanti, avanti!'; instead of ' I'm going to have to search you' you'd hear 'Dopo, dopo' ('Mah.... devo chiedere a mia moglie...')
We're about to board! I'm trying to contact my inner Italian now... Pass the brioche...
*Disclaimer: the author of this blog has Done Her Bit for Italo-British relations and is perfectly entitled to a little gentle leg-pulling. Ditto the French, Welsh, Scots, (anyone else??).
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1 comment:
This post sounds like the line at 430am at Heathrow on Jan 3rd... I was flying to Tel Aviv via Zürich... as the line owe so slowly moved forwards I had time to observe the odly dressed young men in front of me all wearing sunglasses without the sun, close amess, chatting it up in what I assume was Italian... obviously having come off a good time in London.. of course they were in the row behind me on the plane.. I guess London was a place to be for many French, Italians, expat Brits etc... look forward to reading more.
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