A Postcard from Majorca- The Wrong Mop


Bravo to Ryan Air, henceforth known as Tryin’Air. The Powers That Be deemed our flight would escape the cull that was so conveniently announced 24 hours before we were due to depart. AlphaMale and I sat in our designated seats, trying to pretend there wasn’t an empty seat next to us and praying hard every time a small child appeared in the cabin doorway. The seat was eventually taken by a lone lady traveller, much to our delight. We sat smiling smugly as a woman with a very small baby made her way down the aisle, safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be sitting next to us. Unfortunately it turned out she was sitting directly behind us. Apparently it is not uncommon for AM to attract small children on flights and I have made a mental note to book us separate seats next time we fly together.

Consuela assured us the flight would be taking off shortly, but first a mysterious leak in the forward cloakroom had to be attended to. Unfortunately it would seem that mysterious leaks are not in the Tryin’Air handbook and mops are not a standard part of their kit- and so a cleaner was duly summoned.

A man with the mop arrived, Inspected the cloakroom floor and went to consult with the pilot and then left take plane and disappeared down the steps. The tannoy crackled to life and the pilot announced that ‘Apparently the wrong kind of mop had been deployed and the correct kind had been sent for….’ The take off slot came and went, the onboard temperature started to creep up and the baby in the row behind started to cry.

Presently another Man With A Mop appeared wielding a mop not unlike that of the first chap. Another inspection, another consultation with the pilot. Mop Man was then forcibly shoved into the cloakroom with the pilot following close behind. After much jostling and shoving the pilot emerged triumphantly and Mop Man wriggled his way out holding the mop at arms length.

A third man- without a mop- now appeared to verify that the mysterious leak had indeed been mopped up. Another consultation with the pilot was followed by a rather brusque slamming of the cockpit door. The tannoy crackled once again.

‘This is your captain speaking, the leak has been rectified. Cabin crew please prepare for take off…’

The diazepam kicked in, the baby settled down and the aircon breezed into life.

Chocks away. Majorca here we come.