by John Glover
The First Bit: Episode 1
Monday July 28th 01:35
The ham roll grazed Yaxley Farcett’s ear and he swore that this time he was going to cause a scene. He glanced down at his watch - 01:35. He'd been sitting here since ten o'clock and was unable to move, penned in as he was by Fiona, his wife, who was fast asleep with her head resting on his shoulder. His right thigh was being used as a pillow by the head of his son, Joshua. At his feet stood a pushchair, which contained a third sleeping member of his family; daughter, Fern, 11 months old and already the generator of a snore that a 48-year-old chain- smoking, real ale buff would be proud of. Stansted Airport – the Night Flight horror.
The ham roll bounced off his head and came to rest next to his foot. A lad in his early twenties, part of a group of six who had been playing ‘catch’ and ‘keepy-up’ with the roll for the past twenty minutes came to retrieve it. He winked at Yaxley. 'You've got your hands full there mate', he whispered. Yaxley stuck out his legs and entwined them around the lad's trailing leg. He tugged just enough for him to know that he wanted a word.
'Pack it in with ham-roll throwing you git' he hissed. 'Can't you see that I've got a young family here? I don't want them disturbing...right!'
After raising a curious eyebrow the lad took in the scene: Fiona, with another stream of spittle headed for Yaxley's shirt, Joshua's regular breathing and he theatrically cupped an ear better to hear Fern’s noisy exhalations.
He met Yaxley's eye and hissed back. 'Look mate. We're all fed up. I’m fed up. Why do you think I'm playing football with a sodding ham roll at half past one in the morning? I thought I was going to be on that plane three hours ago an' all - just like you did. Your family are asleep - I reckon it's you that has the problem.'
After freeing himself from Yaxley's grip, he dipped athletically, scooped the roll up and threw it across the room of the departure lounge into the hands of a fellow player.
'That's 28-11' he yelled. Yaxley gritted his teeth. He was surrounded, along with his sleeping family, by half a dozen of the Ham Roll footballers that appeared to be on their way to an 18-30 holiday. Except, like him, they weren't going anywhere at the moment. They were at Stansted Airport awaiting the departure of flight GMM134 to Corfu and due to the inactions of some baggage handlers Yaxley wasn't enjoying the start of his holiday. They’d been at the airport since eight o'clock and had had a two-hour drive before that. He'd never felt so stressed in his life. The bastards never mentioned this in the brochure.
See, that's the trouble with holidays - they drain you. Even when you're doing something that's supposed to be enjoyable: well, it isn't. Yaxley was sitting there, cramped into a plastic seat next to a dustbin that was overflowing with Styrofoam burger boxes and chip cartons while the Essex boys, dripping in bling, were playing football with him approximately situated in the centre circle. Even Judith Chalmers couldn’t work this one up into anything resembling fun. However, if he hadn't been here (jetting off to the sun) he would have been stuck in a traffic jam on the M5, M6, A1 or some other god-forsaken strip of tarmac listening to The Tweenies or Bob the Bastard Builder on the car cassette player. Last time they’d gone away for a long weekend (or a mini-break as Judith would insist on calling it) he'd knocked together a couple of compilation tapes for the journey. Joshua had complained when Elvis Costello came on and Fern had decided to practice her projectile vomiting during a Teardrop Explodes track. With Fiona hanging over the back of her seat (because Yaxley refused to stop), with spew running down the window and Julian Cope singing ‘World Shut Your Mouth’ at ear-splitting volumes, Yaxley reached down, hit the stop button, withdrew the tape from the player and threw it out of the window. He spent the next twenty minutes complaining bitterly to the steering wheel that his youth was over and the children were driving him into an early middle age. He could actually feel slippers growing over his feet. And, when they eventually got to Devon, it pissed down for a week and they had to drag themselves around the countryside in Day-Glo pac-a-macs. They had one each: red, blue, yellow and green. We look like the soddin' Telly Tubbies Yaxley moaned. And they did.
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