Landers

Kulula Air is an airline that doesn’t take itself too seriously. This pictures of it’s new livery show that let alone the stories below them! Although I’m not sure I believe all the stories I know the pictures are real which makes me want to believe the stories! I really wish they did international flights!

As well as the best livery they have the best flight attendants! – or so these stories would let you believe.

- On a Kulula flight, (there is no assigned seating, you sit where you want) passengers were apparently having a hard time choosing, when a flight attendant announced, “People, people we’re not picking out furniture here, find a seat and get in it!”

- On another flight with a very “senior” flight attendant crew, the pilot said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve reached cruising altitude and will be turning down the cabin lights.  This is for your comfort and to enhance the appearance of your flight attendants.”

- On landing, the stewardess said, “Please be sure to take all of your belongings.  If you’re going to leave anything, please make sure it’s something we’d like to have.”

- “There may be 50 ways to leave your lover, but there are only 4 ways out of this airplane.”

- “Thank you for flying Kulula.  We hope you enjoyed giving us the business as much as we enjoyed taking you for a ride.”

- As the plane landed and was coming to a stop at Durban Airport , a lone voice came over the loudspeaker: “Whoa, big fella. WHOA!”

- After a particularly rough landing during thunderstorms in the Karoo , a flight attendant on a flight announced, “Please take care when opening the overhead compartments because, after a landing like that, sure as hell everything has shifted.”

- “Welcome aboard Kulula 271 to Port Elizabeth. To operate your seat belt, insert the metal tab into the buckle, and pull tight.  It works just like every other seat belt; and, if you don’t know how to operate one, you probably shouldn’t be out in public unsupervised.”

- “In the event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, masks will descend from the ceiling.  Stop screaming, grab the mask, and pull it over your face.  If you have a small child travelling with you, secure your mask before assisting with theirs.  If you are travelling with more than one small child, pick your favourite.”

- Weather at our destination is 50 degrees with some broken clouds, but we’ll try to have them fixed before we arrive.  Thank you, and remember, nobody loves you, or your money, more than Kulula Airlines.”

- “Your seats cushions can be used for flotation; and in the event of an emergency water landing, please paddle to shore and take them with our compliments.”

- “As you exit the plane, make sure to gather all of your belongings. Anything left behind will be distributed evenly among the flight attendants.  Please do not leave children or spouses..”

- And from the pilot during his welcome message: “Kulula Airlines is pleased to announce that we have some of the best flight attendants in the industry.  Unfortunately, none of them are on this flight!”

- On Kulula flight 255 just after a very hard landing in Cape Town,  the flight attendant came on the intercom and said, “That was quite a bump and I know what y’all are thinking.  I’m here to tell you it wasn’t the airline’s fault, it wasn’t the pilot’s fault, it wasn’t the flight attendant’s fault.  It was the asphalt.”

- On a Kulula flight into Cape Town on a particularly windy and bumpy day, during the final approach the Captain really had to fight it.  After an extremely hard landing, the Flight Attendant said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to The Mother City.  Please remain in your seats with your seat belts fastened while the Captain taxis what’s left of our airplane to the gate!”

- Another flight attendant’s comment on a less than perfect landing: “We ask you to please remain seated as Captain Kangaroo bounces us to the terminal.”

- An airline pilot wrote that on this particular flight he had hammered his ship into the runway really hard.  The airline had a policy which required the first officer to stand at the door while the passengers exited, smile, and give them a “Thanks for flying our airline.”  He said that, in light of his bad landing, he had a hard time looking the passengers in the eye, thinking that someone would have a smart comment. Finally everyone had gotten off except for a little old lady walking with a cane. She said, “Sir, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Why, no Ma’am,” said the pilot. “What is it?” The little old lady said, ”Did we land, or were we shot down?”

- After a real crusher of a landing in Johannesburg , the attendant came on with, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please remain in your seats until Captain Crash and the Crew have brought the aircraft to a screeching halt against the gate.  And, once the tire smoke has cleared and the warning bells are silenced, we will open the door and you can pick your way through the wreckage to the terminal..”

- Part of a flight attendant’s arrival announcement:  “We’d like to thank you folks for flying with us today.  And, the next time you get the insane urge to go blasting through the skies in a pressurized metal tube, we hope you’ll think of Kulula Airways.”

- Heard on a Kulula flight:  ”Ladies and gentlemen, if you wish to smoke, the smoking section on this airplane is on the wing.  If you can light ’em, you can smoke ‘em.”

Ages ago I started to ‘do’ little cartoons about two chaps called Rosencrantz and Dave. I think it’s about time they came back.

Before I post any new ones I’m going to start posting the original ones.

Sometimes they’re funny, sometimes not, depends on my mood.

Many moons ago there was a chance, well before my fathers birth, that I could have been Jewish. I don’t mean that as in “hey we’re all connected” but rather that I have a Jewish side to my family and if it wasn’t for relatives marrying outside the faith – my grandfather – I possibly could have been raised under that religion. As it was I dragged to church my Grandmother who tried to raise us the Methodist way but unlike methodists before me I never actually had my Great Awakening.

When I joined the Scout Movement as a young cub I was ordered by Akela to attend our local church on a Sunday morning. It was difficult to disobey her as she was my Auntie Carol. As hard as the Roman Catholics tried to teach me about the Stations of the Cross I just wasn’t interested, although I think that had more to do with every child in the village knowing about the vicar and his wandering hands than the God fearing stories of Lot and his tasty wife! I was an altar boy for all of two months before I just decided religion and being buggered by The Reverend Peterson weren’t for me – how things change!

At school our Religious Education lessons were based on the teachings of the Church of England and Mrs Burney, our teacher, would make us pray, sing hymns and explain to her why we thought it was funny to put badly photocopied porn into the hymn sheets. This, as far as she was concerned, meant we had a one way ticket to hell. Years later, when I’d proved I could pay attention if they’d just given a few minutes before the lessons to put ‘Hide & Heal’ on my love-bites I became her star pupil and had redeemed myself and earned my seat at God’s table. She actually said that to me. I smiled and walked out the room desperately trying not to laugh.

Intertwined with all these religious experiences, lessons and beatings were the Jewish ceremonies we attended as a family to celebrate Bar Mitzvah’s and Bat Mitzvah’s of our various cousins as well as all the different eusin and nissuin celebrations and often wishing the badeken would never end!

I was circumcised at the age of 21 – for reasons I’m not going into now – a painful experience made even more so by Uncle Carl explaining the Hatafat dam brit to me. I just had three inches of skin lopped off the end of my cock (with plenty to spare ladies gents! – wink wink) the last thing I wanted to hear about was how if I just let the mohel take a drop of blood from my bell-end I could be a proper Jew! I’d already chose a religion by this point anyway, if you can call it that, and Judaism was not it although I do own my own kippah should I ever change my mind.

Over the years I learned enough about religion to be able to make up my own mind about it and let every one else make up theirs. If someone gets some form of happiness or peace from believing in a God I don’t believe in then so be it, fair play to them. Each to their own. My nan, on her deathbed, got comfort from that fact she would be closer to God and I think this helped her pass away so peacefully. Who am I to argue with that kind of happy ending?

There’s one things I’ll say about my jewish relatives though – they know how to throw a good party!

L’chaim to that!

So Joe McElderry bravely* comes out as a gay.



I have two issues with this. One teeny tiny, one MASSIVE!



We’ll start with the teeny one.



In this day and age why is it front page headline news? It just proves that society as a whole still isn’t accepting of homosexuality. Personally I don’t care about this. I am what I am (I am my own special creation!) and if you have problems with it then it is just that – YOUR problem. I’m quite happy and I’d like to think I’m not one of those vile queens that wants to ram my sexuality down your throat – metaphorically speaking. There is far more to me than just the fact that I’m attracted to men.



So what is my big issue with the twink Judy McElderry coming out?



It’s not so much him coming out but more about the message his website puts across.



Joe herself talks about the support he’s received and the general feeling from his message is that it’s okay to be gay.

If that’s the case why are his web-masters deciding to block out the word ‘gay’ and replace with **** whenever anyone uses it by leaving Twinkle a supportive comment.



Whoever runs the website for him (and is connected to Syco Music – aka Simon Cowell) obviously doesn’t think it’s okay to be ****.



It’s just a bloody word!






*Brave? Brave my hairy fat backside! Just like Will Young before him he came out after he’d won but before the newspapers could print it! Not tonight eh? Josephine.

Airports have always been filled with enjoyment for me. This is mainly due to my love of planes but todays airport experience has been like no other. I am, of course, ignoring my last two cancelled flights which were not enjoyable experiences! Especially given that I’d been at the airport for an hour and half the first time and thirty bleedin’ seconds the second time! One extreme to the other!



Today has shown me though that even the trip from the long stay car park (red for those of you interested) to the airport itself can also be a source of great amusement.



As I step on the bus I can hear footsteps racing along the gravel and a woman shouting “wait for us!” Which the driver, as is his want, duly ignores, closes the doors and heads off. There’s a general sigh of disappointment from some of the passengers, a titter from the man to my left and a small evil smile across my face. I might have actually joined in the sighing if it wasn’t for the fact that there was another bus parked right behind us just waiting for passengers.



Thanks to an accident right outside the main terminal entrance the bus has to stop for longer than normal while the Gardai debate who is going to move the vehicles and how. This gives the young mother next to me time to invite a conversation.



“Where you off to?” she asks.
“Birmingham,” I reply.
“I thought so,” she said, “I could tell from the accent.”



I can’t help but be amused by this as firstly I have no accent to speak of* and secondly my reply of ‘Birmingham’ was the very first time I’d spoke since getting on the bus. In fact, it’s the first thing I’ve said out loud since 7am when I said goodbye to Brad who grunted, rolled over and went back to sleep! I got more response saying goodbye to the dogs!



She appears to sense my confusion and amusement but decides to carry on talking.



“We’re off to Gatwick,” she continues thinking that I actually care.
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“Do you know they won’t carry buggies into Heathrow?”
“What?”
“Baby buggies. No airline flying into Heathrow will carry them!”
“That can’t be right.”
“No it is. I tried to book. Heathrow would be better for me so I rang the airport and they told me no airline, absolutely none, will carry a baby buggy.”
“But it’ll go in the hold.”
“Well they said no.”
“Did you ask about it going in the hold or actually on the plane with you?”
“Both.”



It’s at this point I realise I’m actually involved in this conversation and really don’t want to be. People may think I’m travelling with her! To make matters worse she then shuffles to the edge of her seat and hangs half on the chair and half into the aisle and hollers to the driver ‘are we gonna be much longer?’ to which he shouts back something about him not being able to help it and she should be sat properly. As she sits back we start moving again which start her baby off so it gets the attention rather thank me! Thank you Jeff!



Departing the bus I make my way into the terminal but get stuck behind a old lady trying to get on the travelling walkway. “Oh mom I wish you’d just taken the lift,” says her daughter.
“I can manage Janice,” she replies, “I can manage.”



The queue behind me proves she may be able to manage but the time taken would probably be better used by taking the lift.



Finally I get into the terminal and head for the shorter queue for security. Thankfully my choice is the right one – for once – and we speed through.



The hive of people around security is amazing and I purposely take my time putting my coat back on and repacking the guns and drugs so I can hear what’s going on.



One woman is having a miniature fit because she’s being told by security that they’d like to look at her umbrella in her bag.



“It’s only a brolly!” she sputters.
“Can you just take it out please madam,” says the security woman quite politely.
“If you want to look at it you take it out!”
“Do I have you permission?”
“Of course!” slams the woman.



At this point another security members joins her and just stands there saying nothing. She has the look of fire in her eyes and I can already see her reaching into her pocket for her black leather rapist gloves.



Behind me there is more commotion, again from a woman who is questioning the parentage of one of the security team as he young son stands by her slowly pushing Skittles into his pants.



Finally my things are packed away and I have a quick pokey around the shops.



I get accosted by a woman who should have retired thirty years ago as she asks me if I’d like to try the new Hugo Boss fragrance. I see the bottle she’s holding and point out that the particular fragrance she’s holding is at least ten years old so hardly new.



“You know fragrances?” she asks.
“It’s a gay thing!” I say as I wink and walk off.



Why the fuck did I wink? What was that all about? Suddenly it’s 1982 and I’m Tom Selleck!



Not able to find a suitable watch shop I head to the gate to get a coffee and write this blog entry.



As I sit here with my headphones in I’ve come to realise that the volume may be a little too loud as there is a child stood next to my table joining me in a small dance to Whitney Houston and Million Dollar Bill. I think I can be forgiven though being a big gay deaf. What I can’t be forgiven for is what came next which I’ll explain in a later.



Anyway, enough typing. My flight leaves in an hour so it’s time to go and stand at the very front of the queue and demand to be privately escorted to the plane and given my special seat at the front usually only reserved for the pilot and his mate.



*I do not sound like Frank Skinner and Julian Carey’s bastard child as was once described.

In approximately ten hours a doctor is going to look at my head and – hopefully – book me in for lumpectomy.

I’ve had this lump for around six years now and have tried to get it seen to before but to no avail.

When we lived in Wales I went to see my doctor and he said “well I don’t know what it is so we’ll refer you to a consultant.”

‘Excellent’ I thought until three weeks later when a letter arrived.

Dear Mr. Landers,

Re: Referral from Dr. Will. C. Younow.

Having read Dr. Will. C. Younow’s referral I have decided that any work I carry out on the growth on your head will be purely cosmetic. With this in mind no consultation will take place and I’m not even going to look at it and give you an official diagnosis that it’s not a tumour or anything like that.

Please continue to worry about it growing and let me know if it causes you any pain or explodes.

Kind regards,

Mr. Misternotdoctor.

I told the doctor about the letter and he said he’d fight my corner. He rang me a week later to say he’d hand his wrists slapped for interfering and daring to question a man who is now so powerful and clever that he no longer has to use the title doctor! He said just to keep an eye on it – difficult unless I was a reptile but if I was a reptile the lump would be where one of my eyes should be! – and get in touch if it grew or caused me concern.

Well it grew. It went from the size a small pea stuck under my skin to a golf ball trying to break out the golf bag and enjoy eighteen holes. It didn’t concern me, wasn’t painful, was solid and even when stabbed with a needle it didn’t give anything out so I ignored it.

Last year I noticed it had got even bigger. So much so that I started to call it Brian and introduce it as my second head or congenital twin that I’d partially absorbed during my time in the womb. I was tempted to stick false eye lashes to it and tell people it was my third eye, it was just closed.

Doing some research about the Irish medical system – as we’d moved to Galway by this point – I found out it was going to cost in the region of €2500 to have it removed as they would probably consider it cosmetic as well. My research involved asking various people at work – nurses, doctors and clinical psychologist, house-keepers – none of whom would or could tell me what it was.

I was head-butted by one of the service users at work and saw this as the ideal opportunity to ask what it was while in the emergency department.

“It’s abnormal muscle growth,” said an american doctor who I’d seen before and had spent most of that time comparing our Jewish backgrounds with.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Well it won’t hurt but it doesn’t look nice. You should have it removed though.”

Again I was back to the €2500 and there was no way we could afford that – or that I’d be willing to pay it!

So the plan was hatched to create a lie and get some of grossly overpaid UK National Insurance back by registering with the doctor my parents use.

I registered my interest to join the practice in December 2009 and in the following March I went to see Dr. Cutebutfrenchandold.

“Well I’m not sure what it iz but it should come off oui?” he said
“I’ve been told it’s abnormal muscle growth.”
“Oui, it could be but it iz safer to get it removed oui?”
“Oui. I mean yes!”

He explained how the bigger it got the quicker it would grow basically insinuating that it would double in size every year or so. At it’s current rate of growth I’d be tilting my head to the right in six months due to the extra weight.

Dr Cutebutfrenchandold gave me a referral to a consultant who has graciously agreed to see me.

This is happening in approximately ten hours.

In my head I’m convinced he’s going to freeze it there and then and just slice it off. Brian is convinced of his demise as well and as such is growing even quicker and causing me a wondrous headache!

So I’m sat at Dublin Airport with a coffee that tastes like road scrapers mixed with urinal cake, waiting to board my flight to the UK where on arrival I will be arrested for defrauding the national health system and end up in prison. In prison they’ll be concerned about my welfare and will remove Brian for me. Either than or my cell mate Crusher Jones will do it with his makeshift knife while ass-raping me nightly.

I always look on the bright side don’t you think?

EDIT: As some of you may know the appointment never went ahead thanks to the volcanic ash from Iceland cancelling all UK outbound flights from Dublin – and eventually the whole of Ireland and then all of the UK!

Flights and hospital appointments have been rebooked and I’ll keep you informed.

Every year in the US the makers of Duck Tape offer a scholarship to the winner of their “Stuck at Prom” competition.

The rules are pretty simple: As couple make your prom outfit out of Duck Tape. Loads of kids take part and some of the outfits are fantastic and so well made!

The work that has gone into some of these is incredible. Below are some of the ones I like, more pictures are available on the site.

Below is my favourite. I’m very tempted to go out and buy lots and lots of duck tape and make one myself. Now, what shall I make?

DWBKHE8EWRTX

This one is strange but interesting and makes me giggle a little.

This one makes me giggle a lot!